


A Bit of Clarity

by AphroditesLaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But they'll get there in the end, F/F, Journalist Lexa (The 100), Visions, some rocky parts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesLaw/pseuds/AphroditesLaw
Summary: The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Wells Jaha/Raven Reyes
Comments: 194
Kudos: 921





	1. Chapter 1

The visions had started the last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. It all depended on what had been seen - what had been interpreted. Some had brief flashes while others were put in a trance for over a minute. A minute was the longest heard of, though it was difficult to establish who was telling the truth and who was out for attention.

Regardless, the duration of the vision itself was now known to be of no consequence. A woman who had been told she was infertile had had a four-second vision of herself pregnant, while an old man who had been in the trance for fifty-five seconds had relayed that he’d only seen his wife and him sitting peacefully on the porch of their home. Magnitude was relative. What the visions had done, in a world stagnating in such hopelessness, was offer glimpses of sunshine.

But the visions did not come all at once. Amid the flurry of testimonies, out of all the social media posts, the frenzied calls and the hurried articles, there were still voices that bemoaned being left out. There was no precise age, no time, no pattern to the visions. The only established commonality seemed to be a tingling down one’s spine, like a sudden shiver after a strong gust of wind. The feeling of knowing a vision was coming was difficult to explain. Suddenly the world and its noises faded, replaced with vivid images - and for some not even visuals, but rather intense sensations. A well-known story already was that of a blind man in Kenya who had felt himself dipping his hands in a pot of paint. The sensation had been so powerful that he had been driven to recreate it, subsequently gifting the world with breathtaking abstract murals.

Those still on the outskirts of the phenomenon had reason to be disappointed, but the general consensus was that they were lucky to experience it. Nostalgia often gripped those who had had their glimpses - heard in their wishful sighs when they conversed with the people who had yet to see anything at all. Celebrations erupted when one emerged from their visions - strangers smiling at them knowingly, patting them on the back, asking what they had seen and listening with rapt attention. The excitement surrounding it had yet to fade, and with good reason. It was something to unite the world, something in common that existed beyond time and space, beyond science and faith and knowledge. Something no one understood and yet accepted as such - a great unknown to fully embrace.

There were of course the skeptics and the cynics - those that warned that knowing a certain outcome in the future immediately changed it, thus rendering the visions meaningless. But the main response, supported by some cases already, was that it wasn’t necessarily the future that was seen, but rather an obtainable possibility among a thousand other ones. Rather remarkably, doomsayers found few platforms interested in their diatribes. The world had had enough of fear.

* * *

In the sleepy city of Costial, mostly known for its rain and the state’s oldest chocolate factory, the citizens had seen many changes in the past year. Some said the fabric of their culture had been inevitably altered for the better, while others shrugged their shoulders and went back to their lives. A few _vision reader_ shops had popped up just like they had in most countries; a lucrative business for those in search of deeper understanding. Where some visions were clear in their intent, others raised many questions. It was the vocation of these readers to answer them, though many people questioned how a year could suddenly form these so-called experts.

It was in one of these shops that Clarke Griffin found herself one morning, nervously drumming her fingers over her thigh while she waited in a small room. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there, only that her vision had come very unexpectedly two nights ago and that she hadn’t slept since. With sleep deprivation came questionable choices, such as this one.

Clarke hadn’t really worried when news of the visions broke and she had yet to get hers. A year ago she had just opened her café, a process that had kept her far too busy to think about anything that wasn’t money, food, and customer satisfaction. Oh she paid close attention to the news, as it was impossible not to, and she spoke about it with anyone who brought it up over their coffee and pastries, but she didn’t worry. Clarke wasn’t a worrier. Until two days ago, that was.

Her vision wasn’t really… the sort of thing one shared. Well, she’d read about similar ones, but frankly hers was more on the explicit side of things. She’d just curled up on her couch after devouring a grilled sandwich when her spine had suddenly tingled. The next thing she knew, pleasure spread through her body and she found herself in her own bed with a woman’s body atop hers, tousled dark hair covering her face while Clarke kissed her with abandon. She’d seen and felt her own fingers pressing into a tattooed arm while her lover pressed deep inside her and sighed her name. It hadn’t just been the heat of the encounter that had left a mark on Clarke, but the distinct sense of intimacy that had been overwhelmingly powerful.

In the past year, sex had been more about stress relief than any type of connection. There had been a few dates, but Clarke had found herself restless. She didn’t have the patience to court someone, not when all her energy went into the café she had opened after years of dreams and plans. It hadn’t been fair to her dates or the bags beneath her eyes, so falling into a pattern of one-night stands had seemed to work well enough. Clarke still liked sex entirely too much to give it up, sleep be damned (though her recent dry spell argued the contrary). Regardless, despite its graphic nature, her vision hadn’t been about sex. It had felt different; like something she couldn’t put her finger on no matter how many times she thought about it.

Hence: the vision reader. But the wait was longer than Clarke had expected and the clock on the wall didn’t help her nerves. Clarke didn’t even know where she would start anyway. Should it be something small - maybe the meaning of the tattoo? Should it be the way she still felt the woman’s phantom touch on her skin? Still heard her intentions while she kissed a path down her body? Not to mention the inexplicable feeling that she knew her lover, which was precisely why she knew there was just… no way… this vision could be remotely close to reality.

Clarke closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Two days ago she had been perfectly fine with her hectic schedule and the heavy weight on her shoulders, but now she was curious - so deeply curious about this feeling of being utterly consumed that it was leading her to complete distraction. And Clarke couldn’t afford distractions; especially now that _Finn’s Coffee & Bagels_ had just made a move for her territory with his second shop in the city. It wasn’t outright war yet but it would soon be, and Clarke wasn’t going to be on the losing side.

With that thought in mind, and the grating sound of the ticking clock getting to her, Clarke grabbed her purse and left the shop.

“To hell with it,” she muttered before heading out.

* * *

 _The Baker’s Café_ was Clarke’s pride and joy; a labor of love and sweat and so many paper cuts she’d lost count of them. Monday mornings weren’t so difficult anymore, not when she only left the comfort of her bed for the comfort of her second home. She opened the café with her usual yawn, signed off on the early deliveries, and later chatted in the small kitchen with Wells, her best friend, co-owner and in her opinion the finest baker in the city. This week they were making apple tart and banana bread with walnuts, a favorite for many of their customers. Gaia joined them fifteen minutes before opening, where she helped Clarke with the tables as they caught up on the latest weekend news. Apparently Gaia had learned through the grapevine that _Finn’s Coffee & Bagels_ was courting a grocery store to sell his bagels for a share of the profits, but it was still in the early stages of negotiations.

Still, it didn’t sit well with Clarke. Finn Collins was a smug daddy’s boy and Clarke knew for a fact that his bagels came packaged and frozen to his shop. Unfortunately his father was the beloved mayor of their city, which was the equivalent of a ringing endorsement for most residents who only needed a quick, passable fix before work. Finn’s business was thriving thanks to its name alone, but as far as Clarke was concerned the apple had fallen very far from the tree. She was certain Graham Collins knew very little about his son’s actual business practices, but there was nothing to be done there. Now Clarke and Wells could only hope their menu and atmosphere kept their loyal customers from straying a few blocks down Elmond Street.

While Gaia opened the café, Clarke put on their background music, double-checked the coffee machines and added the first batch of their freshly baked goods in the display case - a basket of croissants, blueberry muffins, and cinnamon rolls next to the banana bread and apple tart. Just like the café itself, their display was on the smaller side - comfy, Wells said - but they had a rustic charm going for them that seemed to work well enough.

An hour after opening, Clarke had rung up a customer when she heard the door open and close. Her stomach did an awful swoop, caught between surprise and jitters when she saw that it was Lexa Woods who had just walked in. Surprise because Lexa didn’t usually come in on Mondays, and jitters because it was Lexa who Clarke had shut out of her mind ever since her damn vision.

Lexa was a journalist at the Costial Gazette, but if she was a woman of words in writing, it was hardly the case in person. She was as buttoned up as the flannel shirts she wore come rain or shine, often beneath a sweater or blazer. She took her coffee black but grimaced at each sip, and come to think of it Clarke had never seen her smile. Lexa seemed scarcely interested in what went on in the shop around her, typing away on her laptop like a train on tracks, fast and with a known destination in mind. Sometimes she got up to stretch her legs or order another slice of the cake of the week, but when she regained her seat her fingers were back to their manic typing, as if she had merely put a pin in her line of thought.

Last week, Lexa had been no different than any other customer. She made it clear she was here to work, and beyond the usual hello and order, Lexa didn’t exactly put out a signal that she wanted to converse. So Clarke stuck to her own smile and politeness and thought nothing of it. On some rare occasions she noticed that Lexa and Gaia spoke briefly, but Gaia was Indra Keene’s daughter - Lexa’s landlord - and so they were slightly more acquainted. According to Gaia, who gossiped with Wells far too much about their customers, Lexa was Indra’s favorite tenant. She lived in the only studio on the fourth floor with a small balcony crammed with plants, never made a fuss and had somehow managed to get on Indra’s good side after only six months, a feat that Gaia seemed to find particularly impressive. Apparently it took a lot to impress her mother, let alone become her friend. It was a complete mystery to her how Lexa, who always seemed so serious, had managed it.

Now Clarke found herself drawn into the mystery as well, the result of a vision she could swear Lexa had been a part of. Yes, it had been her features she’d recognized - light eyes looking up at her from between her legs, full lips whispering a dirty promise against her thigh, and slender hands reaching for hers. It wasn’t as clear to Clarke now, but it had been when the vision had ended and she’d jolted up from her couch. She’d been so certain it was Lexa, but the more Clarke thought about it, the less it made sense.

Watching her approach the counter now, sporting her usual tight bun and a green flannel shirt, Clarke just couldn’t reconcile this woman with the one from her vision. Lexa was beautiful, there was no doubt, but… It was just that Clarke had never considered the possibility of Lexa being remotely interested. She was perhaps the exact definition of aloof - and was she even attracted to women? Sometimes when she looked at Clarke it felt like she did it with the same interest as someone staring at a blank piece of paper. So how could it be that this woman would one day make her toes curl and her voice crack between pleas for _more?_

“Good morning.”

Mildly startled, Clarke pushed every single thought at the back of her mind before she greeted Lexa in turn. Lexa glanced at the menu written in chalk and pulled out her wallet.

“I’ll just have your regular brew and a slice of the apple, please.”

“Coming right up,” Clarke replied.

While she made the coffee and grabbed a plate for the slice of pie, Clarke tried to think of anything she might say. Lexa was looking at her phone now, but Clarke was determined to at least make some small talk. She had to get to the bottom of this before it drove her nuts.

“Busy day?” She casually asked.

Lexa looked up from her phone and blinked at her, perhaps just as surprised as Clarke by the spark of conversation.

“Not really,” she replied.

It didn’t leave much room for a follow-up, and so Clarke offered a smile before sliding the pie and cup of coffee on the counter. Lexa didn’t look at Clarke again, but she left a generous tip in the jar as she usually did and then sat at the table by the weeping fig tree Wells was so proud of. Clarke took the next customer’s order and cast Lexa out of her mind, ignoring her sudden disappointment. Apparently she wasn’t even worth a second glance.

A while later, while Clarke took advantage of the lull for a break at the end of the counter, she opened her notebook and allowed her mind to drift a bit. It had been an eventful weekend and she hadn’t really stopped to think about the actual experience of the vision. The content was still confusing, but she was finally a part of the world’s most impactful phenomenon and that was something. She understood it now. And yet she couldn’t think of a way to share it with either Wells or Gaia, let alone celebrate it. Theirs had been so innocent. For Wells, it had been a powerful embrace with his estranged father, one that he had yet to experience but looked forward to. For Gaia, it had been a conversation with an esteemed author thanking her for a novel she would one day write. It had been hope. So truthfully Clarke was a bit miffed that she’d witnessed herself having the best sex of her life but couldn’t share it with anyone, not even her supposed partner. There had to be some sort of missing piece there - maybe a punchline.

“Those are good.”

Her heart jumped in her throat at Lexa’s voice. Clarke dropped her pencil on the sheet of paper she had been mindlessly doodling on, embarrassed that she’d been caught. They were just drawings to occupy her mind; sketches from everyday trivial things like the café’s various plants or the mugs hanging above the sink. She smiled nervously and reached for Lexa’s empty plate.

“All done?” She asked.

Lexa nodded and then watched as Clarke put the plate in the sink. “Do you know the kids’ stories in the Gazette?”

Clarke turned around with a mild frown. Lexa had never once asked her anything since she’d first walked in six months ago. She was so caught up in the fact that she barely remembered the question itself - something about the paper?

“The what?”

“Pages 24, 25. They’re short stories, mostly about animals. We had an intern illustrating them, but he got a full-time opportunity at an advertising firm. It doesn’t pay much, but it gets your work out there.”

Clarke blinked, at first in surprise - Lexa, talking, _conversing_ \- and then in confusion. “I’m not an artist,” she said. “They’re just doodles.”

“I see.” Lexa bit her lip before pulling out a printed copy of the Gazette from her briefcase and leaving it on the counter. “It’s just two pages, no color. Feel free to leaf through it.”

Curiosity got the best of Clarke, who reached for the magazine. "It’s monthly, right?” She asked.

“Hm-mm. Well, the print is. The website breaks news daily.”

Clarke looked up and waited, wondering if Lexa was going to add anything. “Right. I think I’ve got the app somewhere on my phone.”

“That’s good.” Lexa glanced between Clarke and the Gazette before checking her watch. “I should get going.”

“Okay. Thank you for the free copy.”

For a moment Clarke thought she might finally know what a smile looked like on her, but Lexa only offered a slow nod before she left the café. Clarke stared at the door a minute, wondering if she had just made up the entire interaction in her head.

She closed the notebook and shook her head, deciding in that very instant to answer her own earlier question: no, there was absolutely no way that it was _Lexa Woods_ who would ever embrace her that tightly.

* * *

The next Monday, Clarke waited for the deliveries as usual, quietly sipping on coffee while dawn barely made its appearance outside. It was getting colder and darker each week, but the holidays were Clarke’s favorite time of the year and they were now fast approaching. She spotted the delivery truck and called out for Wells who came from the kitchen yawning. They were making pumpkin cheesecake today, not Clarke’s favorite but one of their first big successes last year. Clarke couldn’t believe they had already passed the café’s first anniversary.

“Remind me why we do deliveries in the middle of the night on Mondays?” Wells asked while the _Croft & Daughters_ delivery truck pulled up.

Clarke waved at the driver. “Because Niylah’s the only one willing to work within our bite-sized budget.”

Wells rubbed his eyes. “Right.”

“You didn’t need to come this early.”

“Yes I did. Cheesecake needs to be in the fridge in less than an hour.”

“I could’ve made it.”

Wells shook his head. “You suck at anything pumpkin.”

“Take that back.”

“Morning!” Niylah called out while she opened the back of the truck. Clarke playfully elbowed Wells before approaching her.

Despite his sleepiness, Wells insisted on carrying most of the boxes in while Clarke signed off on Niylah’s delivery list. When all business matters were said and done, Clarke offered her a cup of coffee before she hit the road on her usual delivery route. Though it didn’t matter how early it was, because Niylah never showed any sign of fatigue. Clarke knew it was ingrained in the Croft family since childhood to be morning creatures.

“Long route today?” She asked while Niylah finished her last sip. Wells had slunk back into the kitchen to get started on the cheesecake and their first batch of croissants. It was by far Clarke’s favorite time in the café - when the baking smells would take over just as the sun slowly rose outside. There was nothing like it.

“Not very long,” Niylah answered with a shrug. She buttoned up her coat and breathed in deeply when they stepped outside.

Clarke rubbed her arms up and down, feeling a chill. “Look out for the frost.”

"Always.“ Niylah smiled but made no move to leave. "So…”

Clarke arched a brow, having a good feeling what was coming. “So?”

“The Polis Hotel is having a public event this Friday. Open lounge with drinks and food half-off, some great live music.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to check it out.”

“The Polis Hotel, huh? That’s pretty swanky.”

“I think it might be the only time I’d ever be allowed inside,” Niylah agreed.

The Polis Hotel was famously upscale, but the building itself had a long history and Clarke always appreciated its architecture whenever she passed it. It could be interesting to step inside for once.

“To be clear, you are asking me out at the crack of dawn?”

“What better time than a freezing Monday morning after I’ve delivered your goods?”

“My _goods_ ,” Clarke repeated with a laugh. “You’re a regular charmer.”

“We can go someplace else. Something casual.”

Clarke remembered this game; knew what ‘something casual’ meant too well. They’d get drinks and get pleasantly buzzed and then she would wake up in Niylah’s bed the next morning wondering why they were risking both a friendship and business relationship for something that never led anywhere else. This date would be no different, but Niylah was good company and it felt nice to be wanted, even if it was just for a night once or twice a month.

“No it sounds like fun, let’s do it. Let’s be swanky.”

She ignored the way Niylah smiled, maybe more excited than Clarke had ever noticed before.

* * *

The next day, Clarke was on her short lunch break when she passed an art and supply store and lingered outside. She knew people, mostly students, came here to load up on paints, pencils and canvases, but she’d never given it a second thought before. What she did - passing the time with scribbles - wasn’t art. Sure she’d had other dreams in college - and her portfolio was still somewhere in her apartment, though collecting dust bunnies by now - but the café had eaten them up and Clarke wasn’t too brokenhearted about it. Dreams changed. It was just nostalgia for powdered pigments beneath her fingernails or charcoal stains on the palm of her hand. Shaking her head, she eventually left.

She went through the back of the café and took her coat and scarf off in the small storage room by the kitchen. Their part-timer, Harper, was behind the counter taking an order, but there was a bit of an afternoon lull. She noticed that Lexa had come in and that Gaia was standing by her table and talking animatedly. Lexa, with her computer open and a sprawl of papers on the table, seemed to be taking quick notes, sometimes interrupting with a question. Clarke stayed behind the counter and glanced over a few times, curious to know what they were talking about. Eventually Gaia walked back toward the counter.

Clarke gave her a questioning smile. “Everything good?”

“Oh yeah, just had a quick chat about visions,” Gaia replied as she took off her apron and went out back, ready for her own break.

Clarke frowned to herself, then grabbed a few of the plates in the sink to wash while Harper made their last customer’s latte.

“Hi, Clarke.”

She turned around almost immediately, so surprised by the sound of that voice saying her name. She couldn’t remember Lexa ever saying it before.

“Lexa. Hi. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh no, thank you.” Lexa toyed with her phone. “This might seem completely out of the blue, but… would you agree to an interview with me?”

“An interview? About what?”

“I’m writing an article on the visions people had in Costial. Trying to find connections. I’m interviewing as many people as possible - all ages, professions, that sort of thing. Have you had one?”

Clarke felt herself panic. She looked away, pretending to look for- something. “Um. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean, yes,” Clarke stammered, glancing toward the kitchen. “I have.”

Lexa stepped closer to the counter, pulling up the calendar on her phone. “Would you be open to talking about it? My schedule’s wide open this week, I could drop in-”

Clarke’s heart lurched. “I don’t think so,” she blurted out.

It felt like an eternity before she heard Lexa exhale, like she’d been holding her breath for a long time before. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, her hand squeezing the bottom of her apron.

Lexa put her phone away. “That’s fine.”

Lexa looked just as awkward as Clarke felt, clearly embarrassed by the rejection. Clarke didn’t know how to make her understand that it would only make both of them incredibly uncomfortable.

“It’s just very personal,” she tried.

Lexa nodded quickly. “Sure.” She looked at her watch and cleared her throat. “Hm, I'll be on my way then. Big deadline this Wednesday.”

She gathered her laptop and purse while Clarke tried desperately to think of something to say. 

“Can I get you a slice of the cheesecake?” She offered. “On the house.”

“Maybe another time, but thank you.”

Clarke watched Lexa put her papers away in her satchel with the sinking feeling that she was burning down a bridge. She felt both confused and frustrated. Couldn’t she have had a vision of herself adopting a dog or sleeping on some beach? At least she would’ve gotten more out of it than a headache and a number of unanswerable questions. It was lucky Gaia had left before she could overhear. Clarke wasn’t certain she’d be able to keep the truth from her or Wells, and she definitely wasn’t ready to discuss it.

Lexa put on her blazer and then approached her again. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” she said apologetically.

It surprised Clarke that she even asked. She quickly shook her head. “No, not at all. Like I said, it’s just-”

“Please, you don’t owe me an explanation,” Lexa assured her. “I was excited that Gaia agreed and got ahead of myself.”

“I’m really sorry I can’t be of any help.”

Lexa shrugged, but a thought suddenly occurred to Clarke. She glanced at the cork board they had up on one of the café walls, where customers could pin their flyers.

“You could put up an ad there if you wanted,” she told her.

Lexa turned to look at the wall and the various flyers. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Clarke didn’t know why she felt so relieved she could be helpful to Lexa. “I know it doesn’t seem like much but it attracts a lot of eyeballs every day. People really like the theater discounts we put up.”

That had been the first deal she’d pulled off with one of the many local theaters. People at the café had incentive to see lesser-known plays at a discounted rate, while people at the theater were given vouchers for a free croissant with the purchase of a cup of coffee. The traffic from the afternoon shows in particular was well worth it, and the partnership had been going on for five months now.

The mention of the theater seemed to pique Lexa’s interest. “Oh do- do you go to the theater a lot?”

“Wells, our baker, has season tickets, but I can’t really find the time. Or it’ll be sold out if I think of something. That’s kinda how it goes when you live in the theater city of the country.”

Lexa nodded in understanding. “I might put an ad together then. I’ve been having a difficult time-” she stopped herself. “People are very protective of the way their visions are transcribed.”

 _Maybe they’ve just seen themselves sleep with you too,_ Clarke thought. “I’m sure many would be happy to have them in your writing.”

Lexa rubbed the back of her neck. “Thank you, Clarke.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Clarke rarely drove east to the financial district, but the Organic Foods there was the only store that carried the obscure brand of honey Wells liked the best for their honey cakes. She went during her lunch break on Thursday, eager to avoid the evening rush hour. It was drizzling today, but Clarke didn’t mind capricious weather so long as she got the product her baker and her customers enjoyed the most.

She was feeling antsy, unsure about her date with Niylah the following day. It wasn’t anything uncommon for them, but this time seemed different. Clarke couldn’t help but feel it had to do with her vision, which… she definitely hadn’t shared with Niylah. It wasn’t just the tattoo that was missing, but the way their bodies had locked and the sweet sound of the whisper Clarke couldn’t forget.

She shopped in the store with purpose, knowing exactly where to push her cart. She grabbed ten pots of honey total and made her way back to checkout, eyeing the cheese aisle on the way. Their Roquefort sure was overpriced but damn was it good. One time Wells and his girlfriend Raven had invited her over for dinner and graced her taste buds with the best Roquefort and pear salad she’d ever had. Her effort to recreate it on her own had been a soggy calamity.

“Clarke?”

She turned her head, her entire body locking at the sight of Finn Collins. His hair was slicked back with what Clarke assumed was an entire pot of gel, but it was his pretentious black suit that made him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Finn,” she responded, though made no effort to color her tone with any warmth.

He approached her with a smile. “I’m surprised to see you here. You hate the East bank.”

Clarke kept her hands on her cart, grateful that it was between them. “I don’t hate the East bank. I just don’t have ten dollars to spend on a loaf of bread.”

“That’s a stretch, but you’ve always been good at that.”

“Can I help you?” She gritted her teeth.

He chuckled. “Calm down. I’m just messing around.”

“And you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Finn’s smile turned into a tightening of his jaw while he looked around, as if to make sure no one had heard.

“Don’t worry, your father’s constituents aren’t listening. I doubt they even do it at public events.”

“They were very eager to listen today when I came in with my business proposals.”

Clarke paused, remembering what Gaia had told her about Finn’s expansion plans. She’d never mentioned him approaching chains though, let alone Organic Foods. “Do they know they’d be buying flash-frozen factory products?”

“My stores bake fresh daily and on the spot, Clarke. Why don’t you come down one day and try our Elmond location? I’ll even show you the kitchens. I have to say - it’s a genius spot. The proximity to the college alone is driving demand through the roof. I’m already pitching a breakfast sandwich to investors.”

He was trying to goad and if Clarke didn’t know his tactics so well - bitterly well - it would have been easy to fall into it. She pushed her cart past him, taking some satisfaction in the way he jolted when a wheel rolled over the tip of his foot. Sometimes actions were better than words.

* * *

Clarke spent most of the evening picking out her date outfit for the next day, knowing she wouldn’t have time in the morning, let alone after rushing from the café to pick Niylah up. It seemed like it would be relatively casual if the event was open to the public, but rocking her jeans and leather jacket didn’t feel right. She settled on a black number and some strappy heels, mostly to not be a head shorter than Niylah who liked to wear heels whenever she could get out of her work boots.

The day of, Clarke was slightly absentminded. When Lexa walked in, this time at her regular 8am, Clarke found it hard not to focus on her. She was wearing a dark green sweater today, with the collar of a flannel peaking out as usual, and her hair in a single braid. It was exactly how Clarke expected Lexa to look, and yet each time she walked in felt like the first.

“Good morning,” Lexa said as she approached the counter.

Clarke smiled. “Morning. What will it be today?”

Lexa scanned the display glass, stopping when she spotted the basket of croissants. They were still warm, but Clarke knew Lexa didn’t indulge every time she came.

“I’ll just have a regular coffee, please.”

Clarke nodded and grabbed one of the mugs, but as she poured the coffee she couldn’t help but prolong the moment. “Sure I can’t tempt you?” She asked, glancing at the basket.

Lexa hesitated before she smiled. “Maybe you can.”

It was the first - the _first time_ Lexa had smiled at her and Clarke felt her heart skip a beat. It was barely a quirk at the corner of her mouth, but it was there and it was hers. Clarke couldn’t think of a better smile.

“On the house.”

“What? No-”

Clarke set down her cup of coffee. “For the slice of cheesecake you turned down.”

“Well… if you insist.”

Clarke put the croissant on a plate with a napkin. “I do.”

Lexa paid in cash as usual, dropping the change in the tip jar. She picked up the plate but didn’t make a move otherwise, clearly hesitant to say something.

“Was there something el-”

“I have a spare ticket to this play,“ Lexa blurted out. "A comedy my cousin wrote. Opening night, but everyone I know already has tickets."

Clarke waited with bated breath, just as nervous as Lexa seemed. A part of her just wanted to ask Lexa if she felt the same undercurrent of frustration between them, like a growing pile of things left unsaid. It was true for Clarke of course, but that truth would only drive Lexa away.

"I thought - based on what you said, that maybe if the opportunity presented itself… you might be interested in going?”

Still taken aback and completely unprepared, Clarke's first instinct was to deflect. “Writing runs in the family?” She asked.

Lexa nodded. “Just the two of us. Woods are usually in health or politics, so it’s brought us closer.”

Clarke wondered if that meant Lexa didn’t get along with the rest of her family. “When’s the play?”

“Tonight, 7pm,” Lexa grimaced. “Very short notice, I know. But there’ll be an after-party with free food and drinks. Obviously you could bail on that - my cousin’s friends can be a handful. He’s an incredible writer though. It should be a fun play.“

A night out to a new play, free food, interesting company - it sounded tempting enough that Clarke considered stepping aside to call Niylah and cancel their plans, but that wasn’t fair to her.

“That’s really sweet of you to offer… I already have plans tonight though, I’m sorry.”

Lexa seemed to deflate like a balloon, but recovered quickly. “No need to apologize. This was ridiculously last minute.”

Clarke realized it was the second time she was turning her down. She hoped Lexa didn’t start to think it was on purpose. “Another time maybe?” She suggested hopefully.

“I’d like that.”

That had to mean something, though Clarke wasn’t sure what.

She picked Niylah up at her apartment at 9pm sharp, having the advantage of being closer to downtown. She lived in a two-bedroom on the second floor of the building, which her family had owned for four generations now. Clarke liked the Croft family, but she couldn’t imagine ever living so close to her own. She loved both her parents, and they’d been nothing but supportive in the past hectic years, but they were a good three-hour drive away and frankly that was fine. Once, her mother had nearly given her a heart attack when she’d re-organized the café’s financial records without consulting her and Clarke could only take such misguided initiatives in small doses.

Niylah wore a white top beneath a dark blue blazer and its matching pants, cutting quite the figure with the addition of her heels. It was hard to believe the woman drove a delivery truck as a job, but Niylah was surprising in her own right. She kissed Clarke’s cheek while they waited for their Lyft, both knowing the night would not end in anyone being remotely sober enough to drive.

“Have you ever been inside?” Niylah asked her on the way to the hotel.

Clarke shook her head. “Are you kidding? They’d throw me in the dumpster on sight.”

Niylah laughed. “They’re not the Ritz.”

“Oh, not because of the clothes.”

“Finn?” Niylah asked.

Clarke’s mood soured. She hadn’t forgotten their last encounter. “Can we not?”

“Sure.”

Clarke sighed and took her hand. “Let’s just have a good time.”

Niylah looked at her lips and smirked. “I plan to.”

The Polis Hotel was a historic landmark of the city, built over a hundred years ago and with the original stones to prove it. It had the looks of both a mansion and a small castle, a sort of majestic giant sat on a very slight hill. It wasn’t a surprise to see a line of smartly dressed people outside, but when Niylah guided her past the line and straight toward the busy entrance, Clarke figured she’d kept something from her.

“Niylah, you said this was a public event.”

“If you managed to snag tickets,” Niylah shrugged. “My dad got them for free after he did a couple last-minute deliveries for them.”

Clarke tugged on her arm. “You could’ve opened with that.”

“You would’ve insisted I give them to someone else.”

Clarke looked everywhere, impressed by the buzz. “This looks like a big deal.”

Niylah showed their tickets, which got torn before another person stamped the back of their hands with the elegant logo of the Polis Hotel.

“It’s promo for a play,” Niylah remembered. “ _Nowhere Ground_ or something? The owner’s son is the playwright. It’s gotten a lot of buzz.”

When they stepped inside, Clarke felt a thrill. There was something exciting about being a part of something exclusive and it was clear the hotel intended on giving its guests for the night a good time. Ushered down the hall, Clarke realized quickly that the crowd was spread out in two connected rooms, both seemingly large enough to host balls. Back when it had been built, they likely did.

The first room was packed, with the bulk of the crowd by the bar and others in the seated area where food could be ordered. They were the ones closest to the stage, where a band was already playing loud 1920s inspired music. Clarke only caught a glance of the second room for now, a sort of game room with the allure of a casino. There were pool tables and table games already quite busy; blackjack and poker games well under way. Clarke figured this room had more actual guests of the hotel, though it didn’t seem discouraged for anyone here for the live music to partake in them. She vaguely remembered the Polis Hotel having a gambling license, but she’d hardly expected a whole floor of it.

It was certainly a change of scenery; a world Clarke was interested in experiencing tonight but rather happy not being a part of any longer than that. She could tell Niylah was absolutely fascinated by it all, and it was easy to get swept up.

“Do you think they might retroactively throw a soirée like this for the café’s opening?” Niylah asked.

Clarke stayed close to her as they made their way toward the bar. “Maybe for the tenth anniversary.”

They started off the night with two Old Fashioned cocktails, eventually seated by a waiter in a '20s costume a few tables from the stage. Clarke had to strain her ears to hear Niylah, who tried very hard to talk above the volume.

“Are you trying the Charleston tonight?”

Clarke laughed. “Not a chance in hell!”

True to her word Clarke didn’t attempt anything too far outside of her comfort zone, but they did make their way to the dance floor eventually where they fell into a rhythm that was all too familiar. She didn’t mind when Niylah’s hands went to her hips, and she didn’t mind when their bodies loosened further throughout the night, especially after a quick bite and their third cocktail. When she felt her lips by her neck, however, Clarke knew that something was off. She pulled back and smiled, squeezing Niylah’s hand.

“I’m going to get some water,” she said. “Want anything?”

Niylah shook her head, likely understanding Clarke needed a break. Clarke managed to get a glass of water at the bar and made her way through the crowd, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She found herself by the second room, which had become busier since she’d peeked into it two hours ago but was still considerably less crowded than the stage room. She lingered in the back, slowly sipping on her water while she thought about Niylah and how it felt like they were on two different pages, clumsily trying to find their way back to each other.

There was a group in the furthest corner that Clarke guessed had to be some of the actors from the play. They were exceptionally attractive, with their '20s hairdos still in place and some remnants of makeup.

But it wasn’t an actress that made Clarke hold her breath. She could hardly even believe it when she saw Lexa sitting at the table, with her thick hair loose and swept to one side and the sleeves of a dark grey flannel rolled up to her forearms. The dots connected immediately. Lexa was grinning like she was about to win the lottery, and when she put down what must’ve been an exceptional hand, she might as well have. Her group erupted into a mix of cheers on one side and groans of protests on the other, but the dominant sound was laughter. Lexa high-fived who Clarke assumed was her cousin, the playwright, before grabbing her drink and tipping it back. Her cousin squeezed her shoulder, obviously proud that she had brought them to victory. She didn’t seem drunk but was clearly tipsy, smiling lazily while a dark-haired woman whispered something in her ear.

A feeling of complete irrational jealousy settled in the pit of Clarke’s stomach. Still dizzy from the dancing and her drinks, it became hard for Clarke to stop herself from remembering her vision. From imagining Lexa’s hands run down her body again, cupping her breasts, wrapping around her thighs to part them wider as she settled in between them and pressed her eager mouth against wet heat. Clarke couldn’t have imagined prim, focused Lexa with a tattoo before - but she could imagine _this_ Lexa having one, especially stood next to her cousin, who had an entire sleeve of them on his left arm and another one going down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. It was all she could think about now, making it impossible to deny any longer that Lexa’s build matched the one from her vision, that her hair was just as thick, and that there was clearly more to her than clipped sentences and serious expressions.

Clarke downed her glass of water to parch her suddenly dry throat, hoping it wasn’t so obvious the kind of thoughts she was entertaining. And on a date with another woman, no less. What kind of person did that? She had to get a grip, and fast. It must’ve been a cruel joke that Niylah found her then, softly pressing her hand against her back.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

Clarke quickly nodded, but when she turned her head and looked toward Lexa again, their eyes met and _okay_ seemed like the furthest thing to describe her feelings. She wasn’t sure what she could possibly read in Lexa’s expression from so far across the room, but her heart pounded regardless. Lexa knew why she’d declined her invitation now and Clarke couldn’t really understand why she felt sudden guilt, like she had been caught in a lie. But she hadn’t - she’d told Lexa she had plans. How she could have known that they would wind up in the same place regardless? 

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” she told Niylah, finally looking away.

Niylah seemed to agree and reached for her empty glass. “Let me put this down and let’s get out of here.”

“Meet me outside the restroom?” Clarke asked.

“Sure.”

It was a bit quieter on the way to the restroom, though Clarke wondered if maybe she was just going deaf. She followed the sign and wavered just a second when she realized she was walking by a large stairwell. It was splendid, with details in the railing that Clarke had to marvel at for just a moment.

She looked up and found a tabby cat staring at her from one of the steps, but tonight had already been too strange for her to be surprised. Shaking her head, she continued toward the restroom and forgot all about it.

When she checked herself in the large mirror above the sink, washing her hands with the slowness of someone with too much whisky coursing through them, her thoughts went back to the past year. She wondered if the next would look like the same despite her vision; if something so monumentally life changing to some people would just end up being an old memory to her. She pushed some of her hair back from where it stuck to her forehead, sighing at the state of her lipstick now completely faded.

When she came out of the restroom and passed the stairwell, she vaguely became aware of someone coming her way. 

“Lexa,” she said in surprise.

Lexa looked up at something and then strangely stilled. “Don’t panic.”

Clarke frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s an angry cat perched on the stairs about to pounce on you.”

“What?” Clarke turned around.

“No don’t move,” Lexa warned her gently, her hand reaching for her waist to keep her from staring at the cat.

Clarke felt a jolt beneath Lexa’s touch, like the lightest press of her fingers had burned her. She hadn’t expected it, let alone Lexa stepping so close to her. She wasn’t sure what she wished for the most - to have worn a thicker dress so that she wouldn’t feel the heat of Lexa’s hand so close to her skin or have it entirely gone.

“Why not?” She asked her, alarmed, though she was unsure if it was because of Lexa’s proximity or because a cat might claw her face out.

“Any sudden movement and she reacts,” Lexa explained as she kept her eyes trained on the cat. “She pounced on me in this exact spot just a few months ago. It’s not a pleasant feeling.”

Clarke found herself unable to look anywhere but at Lexa’s face - or rather the column of her throat, tilted up just a bit. “I can’t imagine,” she said.

“She’s skittish, but a little patience goes a long way.”

“Does it?”

Maybe it wasn’t the time for Clarke to realize Lexa and her had always been separated by something before, whether it was the counter at the café or the table Lexa sat at. Lexa was a customer - had never been anything else. She said hello and ordered and said goodbye. They’d had brief conversations, but the line had still been there. The line that one expected between the person behind the counter and the person in front of it.

But when her question prompted Lexa to look away from the cat, and look at _her_ , and realize how close they were, Clarke knew the line had vanished. Lexa’s eyes seemed to darken, and Clarke thought maybe her fingers pressed into her waist just the briefest moment before she suddenly stepped away.

“She’s gone,” Lexa said with a hard swallow.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“Oh.” Clarke’s heart hammered while she glanced toward the stairs, having completely forgotten about the animal. When she failed to catch Lexa’s eyes again, she thought for a moment that Lexa seemed upset. "Thank you," she breathed out.

"Hm."

“Hey,” Niylah called her as she arrived from around the corner. “You ready to go?”

Clarke blinked at Niylah before remembering their last conversation. She walked to her side. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Lexa was gone when Clarke looked back, but the feeling in her chest persisted.

The ride to Niylah’s was quiet, and neither reached out to touch hands like they would have usually done. Outside of Niylah’s complex, they stood by the door and watched the Lyft pull away. Niylah stepped closer to her.

“I had a great night,” she said.

“Me too. Thanks for the invite.”

“Thank you for the drinks.”

Clarke smiled. Spending time with Niylah always felt easy. They laughed and were comfortable together. Their conversations always flowed. Clarke couldn’t think of a single fault to pick apart, and yet when Niylah cupped her cheek and kissed her, she knew something had changed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she pulled away.

Niylah nodded sadly. “I figured. Had to reach this point sometime, right?”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Clarke insisted. “I… I just think I might if we keep doing this.”

“I know.”

Clarke wasn’t sure what to say for a moment; wasn’t sure why this night hadn’t gone like all the other ones. All she knew was that Niylah’s kiss had carried less heat than Lexa’s brief touch - hadn’t made her stomach tighten or her heart beat faster. She didn’t understand it yet, how she could react so strongly to a practical stranger, but she couldn’t drag Niylah into her mess.

“Are we going to be okay?”

“I might be ten minutes late this Monday to stick it to you,” Niylah shrugged playfully.

“You deserve at least an extra twenty.”

Niylah hummed in consideration before she opened the door. “Have a good night, Clarke.”

“Night, Niy.”

* * *

A week after parting ways with Niylah, a sudden sense of loneliness hit Clarke. It wasn’t that she regretted the decision, but the possibility had always been there and that in itself had been enough to avoid confronting the glaring emptiness of her apartment. Her celibacy had felt more like a choice than it did now.

Clarke knew that the vision was the main culprit for the sudden realization that she had built her dream life but had no one to share it with. Wells had Raven and his passion for theater keeping his life beautifully busy outside of the café, while Gaia had the next five years mapped out thoroughly - her own dreams soon to be achieved. They didn’t have time or space left to fill, and Clarke had fooled herself into believing the same applied to her. She had menus to think of; new coffee beans and bakes to taste test; ingredients to purchase. She had events to plan; social media accounts to update; phone calls to answer. It was a headache most of the time, but she had a long list of successes to be proud of.

It wasn’t easy to admit that she’d neglected a part of her life - that she’d never had anyone to come home to in years. Sometimes, she couldn’t even be sure she’d ever felt a fraction of what Wells felt for Raven. If she’d ever gazed at anyone with such adoration. It would happen eventually, she’d always thought. She had time for that. But the truth was that the future had already come, and Clarke was alone. Alone and no closer to understanding a vision that she wasn’t even sure she could trust anymore.

It was a gloomy thought for a gloomy evening. Clarke enjoyed her plate of homemade ravioli nonetheless, a Saturday treat for an otherwise dull week. She had expected it with so many logistics to deal with before the café’s upcoming 3-day event, but it didn’t help that time had seemed to slow to a crawl. It was pointless to deny the source of her disappointment though:

Lexa hadn’t showed at all this week. Not even once for a croissant or an early morning espresso. Clarke had secretly hoped she would, unable to stop thinking about their brief encounter at the party. Something had changed and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexa knew it too. Which only made her absence more nerve-racking. Clarke had taken to reading the Gazette again, scrolling down the app mindlessly during breaks. She’d caught Lexa’s name a few days ago and read her most recent articles, unable to stop herself once she’d given into her curiosity.

Her most engrossing story had been a special report on the Mountain Men, a group of people who had lived in isolation in the Costial mountain chain for a hundred years. They were a very particular case, their bloodline seemingly passing down a deathly allergy to the sun, or _solar urticaria_. Yet they had chosen to live in isolation rather than accept any aid, building their own bunker in the 1900s, a complex network of rooms and tunnels. It was only ten years ago that the last of them had finally emerged from underground, pale and weak creatures but otherwise strong willed. In her story, Lexa was remarkably descriptive yet respectful of their privacy. They lived on the outskirts of Costial now, helped by modern medicine and custom-made protective clothing, though never quite able to stand the sun regardless. Lexa had written that she’d met with them at night, and had been surprised when next she knew the sun had risen and they’d spoken for hours. The Mountain Men were neither a cult nor a mystery to solve - they were human beings who craved human contact like anyone else, only dealt with a different set of circumstances at birth.

Reading her words had given Clarke more insight into Lexa’s work, but hardly anything on her as a person. And Clarke couldn’t help but crave more of her.

The hope for some clarity came on Sunday morning. Clarke went to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients and a bag of quince, planning to tempt Wells into using them. He was the only person she knew that was so fond of quinces he could be bribed with them, though it could be an acquired taste.

The farmers’ market was always busy; the sort of organized chaos that Clarke lived for. She stopped at her usual stands - first the vegetables and fruit, and later the meats and cheeses. Her bags were nearly bursting when she decided to leave, having been tempted by olives and a few sachets of spices at a new stand. It seemed like a couple had cropped up in the past three weeks. Sundays were never a rush, and there was still time to head back home before the café.

Clarke stopped short when she looked toward a honey stand and noticed Lexa chatting with the vendor. She had a dark brown jacket on and a long knitted scarf wrapped twice around her neck, the only sign that she might be bothered by the chilly morning. Colder winds were starting to sweep through Costial, but Clarke didn’t mind how quickly winter was approaching. It had always been her favorite season - and it was good for business too.

With the busy activity, Clarke knew that she couldn’t stand still in the middle of the alley. On impulse, she walked toward the stand.

“Lexa. Hi.”

Lexa turned to her, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Busy market today,” Clarke said, trying to appear more casual than she felt.

Lexa looked between her and the man behind the stall. “It is. Hm. Clarke, this is Gustus. His bees make the best honey in the state.”

Gustus laughed heartily. “Flattery won’t get you a third pot.” He spoke with an accent Clarke couldn’t place, but his tone was strangely comforting.

Lexa’s ears seemed to pink, though it might’ve been from the cold.

“I’m just trying to help your business,” she countered.

“Sure, sure.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke. “Gustus was stubbornly staying on his apiary with a cardboard sign a few miles away. I convinced him to apply for a stall here.”

“A whole five feet of space,” Gustus grumbled half-jokingly.

Clarke smiled. “I know the struggle. They turned down my business partner and I a few years back.”

“What were you selling?” Gustus asked.

“Well that was the problem - nothing consistent. We wanted to do sweet and salty bakes, but we don’t grow any of the ingredients ourselves. They didn’t like that - said we ought to just open a bake shop. It worked out pretty well in the end.”

Lexa nodded, but her eyes stayed on Gustus and the stall. “Clarke owns a coffee shop,” she clarified for him. “It’s very good.”

Gustus’ expression shifted from a frown to amusement. “Very good? From you, that is high praise.”

Clarke didn’t have the time to question the statement. Lexa shouldered her full bag with a glare at him. Clarke realized then that Lexa had yet to fully look her way, let alone address her directly.

“My baker loves honey cakes,” Clarke brought up, trying not to worry. She hadn’t done anything to warrant a cold shoulder… had she? “I’ve been trying to get him to switch from his usual brand - and honestly it would be much easier for me than trekking to the East Bank.”

Gustus brightened and wrapped a pot in newspaper. “Try it. See if he likes it.”

Clarke took out her wallet, but he declined.

Lexa scowled. “That’s not how you turn a profit, Gus.”

He scratched his long beard. “But it is how you cultivate interest and loyalty.”

When a couple arrived at the stall, Clarke moved to the side and Gus excused himself to answer their questions. Now stood much closer to Lexa, Clarke felt the need to fill the silence.

“How was your week?” She asked.

Lexa’s whole body seemed to tense. “Busy. Yours?”

“Long.” She bit her lip. “I read your piece on the Mountain Men. Crazy story.”

“You did?” Lexa sounded surprised, but there was a spark in her eyes.

Clarke nodded. “I’d heard about them obviously, but I’d never realized some of the family still lived near Costial.”

“They keep to themselves.”

“But you got them to open up.”

“It’s my profession. Besides, I’ve found that few people can actually stand to die with their secrets. Eventually we yearn to be heard.”

Clarke’s heart raced under Lexa’s gaze. There didn’t seem to be an in-between with her - she either didn’t look her way at all or stared at her like she might undress her. Though Clarke was aware her reading of Lexa’s expressions was likely very skewed.

“I don’t believe that,” she replied. “We all have stories we’d be happy to bury forever.”

“Maybe I’m just too boring a person to have any,“ Lexa said quietly. She didn’t expand on it and Clarke suddenly felt like she couldn’t hold her stare any longer.

“I should get to the parking lot,” she said.

“I’m that way too.”

“Oh okay,” Clarke replied, though Lexa had already started walking after a quick wave at Gustus.

Clarke fell into step beside her. “I’ve never seen you at the market before,” she said.

Lexa shook her head. “I usually just come in the last thirty minutes.”

“When they’re more amenable to haggling - _smart_.”

Clarke swore she saw the ghost of a smile on Lexa’s face, but she was well-aware she couldn’t just keep staring at her profile for much longer. She glanced at the top of her bag. “Margie’s brie is really good.”

Lexa let out a little hum of agreement. "Her blue cheese is even better.”

As they passed the parking lot, Clarke threw caution to the wind. She had to at least try to understand the walking enigma by her side.

"So… last year we had an open mic weekend to drum up some publicity for the café. Friday to Sunday. We’re doing it again this week.”

“Starting a tradition?” Lexa asked.

“Hoping to. People can sign up in person or through our website and perform some original stuff. We’ve already got a decent list.”

"That’s a great idea.”

Clarke tried not to think too much about her erratic heart. “It should be a fun time if you wanted to drop by; get inspired…”

Clarke herself had gotten an itch to be creative after last year’s event. Being surrounded by aspiring musicians and comedians had reminded her just how much she needed her own art as an outlet for stress. She’d put her drawings to the side for the café but picking up a pencil again had felt like coming home. She figured Lexa, who had seemed quite comfortable surrounded by comedians the night of the play, might feel the same way about such a setting.

But her reaction was odd. She stopped with her brow furrowed. “Inspired?” She asked.

“To write?”

Lexa’s body immediately stiffened, almost like she was upset. “I see. I’ll try to find the time.”

“Great,” Clarke said in relief, choosing not to worry too much about her interpretation of Lexa’s reaction. It was clear by now she couldn’t read her very well. “I’ll put a slice of cake on the side for you.”

Lexa shook her head. “You don’t need to bribe me, Clarke.”

Clarke frowned. "I wa-”

Lexa looked toward her car. “I should get this food in the fridge. I’m interviewing someone in an hour.”

“Have you found any patterns yet?” Clarke couldn’t help but wonder, though the question was also a poor attempt to speak to Lexa longer.

Lexa glanced up at her, her eyes lighter than Clarke remembered in the glow of the morning sun. Yet it reminded Clarke of the party too - how close Lexa had been, when now it suddenly seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

“I guess you’ll have to read the article.”

And with that, Lexa was walking to her car, leaving Clarke with the distinct feeling that she wasn’t any closer to understanding her.

* * *

With the ongoing preparations over the week, Clarke barely had a second to herself. Her interaction with Niylah on Monday morning had gone well though, awkward for just a few minutes before Niylah had cracked a terrible joke about starting a band called the Rolling Scones for the open mic.

The makeshift stage arrived in two pieces early Wednesday, and with Wells, Gaia and Harper’s help, Clarke was proud to say it didn’t look too shabby - and definitely a step-up from last year’s. Wells’ girlfriend Raven came around to help them with the sound setup, a task she essentially summed up as ‘ _nobody touch my cables or I’ll electrocute you_.’ And far be it from Clarke to question a professional sound engineer.

Around 5pm, with a tired back and sore arms, Clarke had again drifted toward the end of the counter and started drawing. It was a character this time - a scraggly woman atop a mountain staring out at the horizon. She’d started it after reading Lexa’s article, wondering how one could stand to live hidden in the dark for so long, and what they might’ve felt after leaving the comfort of what they knew for complete uncertainty.

She glanced up toward Lexa’s spot, trying not to think about her. It was such a strange shift - from being a regular customer to not stopping by once in two weeks.

“Hello.”

Clarke dropped her pencil and walked back to the other side of the counter, smiling at the young man standing behind it.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

“Are you Clarke? I mean- the owner?” He asked with a slightly nervous stammer.

“Co-owner, yep.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Aden Baltimore. For the Costial Gazette.”

His handshake was limp, but Clarke could tell he barely even knew what to do with his body. His checkered shirt was too loose and his tie too long, like he had ransacked his father’s closet. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed and he smelled strongly of cologne. Clarke guessed he was eighteen at most.

“What can I do for you, Aden?”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m here for the article? Lexa said that late afternoon was a good time.”

He dug into his messenger bag, trying to find something. It looked very similar to Lexa’s satchel and Clarke wondered if he was a protégé and maybe very eager to resemble his mentor.

“Here’s my ID,” he added, showing Clarke his Gazette badge. It was endearing, to say the least, but Clarke wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“What article are you talking about?”

“To boost the mic event. Didn’t you set it up with her?”

Clarke’s smile fell.

A puff piece. Lexa had sent a teenager to write a puff piece on the café. Clarke wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing: that Lexa had assumed her invitation had been a request to advertize the open mic, or that she’d sent someone else to do it. It hadn’t even crossed Clarke’s mind. Was that what Lexa had thought of their interaction? That it had been a means to an end?

“It’ll go up tomorrow morning in _This Week In Costial_ ,” Aden said, then looked around anxiously. “Did I mess up? It starts Friday, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, absolutely, it does,” Clarke assured him as she shook off the lingering feeling of vexation.

Aden relaxed. “Can we sit down for a few minutes? I just want to make sure my notes are legible.”

Clarke glanced at Wells and Gaia in the kitchen, both laughing about something. She didn’t feel much like laughing herself. But the sooner she gave Aden what he needed, the sooner she could occupy her mind with something else.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

They sat at one of the center tables. Aden took out his phone, a notepad, and three different pens.

“How long have you been at the Gazette?” Clarke asked him curiously.

Aden tried the first pen on the notepad but discarded it when the ink barely came out. “I just started a few months ago. This is my first time reporting,” he admitted bashfully. “I’m taking a gap year before college and wanted some real experience.”

“That’s smart. How do you like it so far?”

“I love it,” he gushed, looking more like a boy on Christmas morning than a teen fresh out of high school. “It’s so much easier to learn through practice.”

Clarke nodded. “So you’ll be writing the piece?”

“I’ll structure the notes and work with Lexa on it. She has to approve everything I do.”

“Do you like working with her?”

“Lexa’s great,” he said, coming out of his shell the more confident he was in the topic. Clarke couldn’t fault him for his awkwardness - everyone had to start somewhere. “We were both new at the Gazette around the same time, so she says we need to stick up for each other. I like that. Lexa doesn’t care about rank, just what a person can bring to the table.”

Clarke had stopped counting the ways Lexa surprised her. But in the last few weeks she had learned that the reserved, serious woman who sat in her café was one hell of a poker player, related to the owners of the Polis Hotel, and revered by a teenager. Not to mention, in all likelihood, a particularly intense lover. Clearly, Clarke still knew nothing about Lexa Woods, and it seemed like that was precisely Lexa’s doing.

It stung. Clarke understood that she was only a café owner, barely a blip in Lexa’s routine, if at all these days, but it was Lexa who had initiated their first conversation. Who had stopped her at the party. Clarke had hoped it meant a step closer to being friendly. She had thought maybe Lexa just naturally kept to herself, but it seemed like everyone and their mother - quite literally, in Gaia’s case - knew a side of her that Clarke wasn’t privy to.

“So, what can we expect from the open mic?” Aden finally asked, forcing Clarke to sweep away any other thought.

* * *

The article was short and sweet, though one of the longer ones in the entire section that spanned three pages. Clarke had to admit the publicity wouldn’t hurt, and it didn’t hurt either when the Gazette also tweeted about it.

What did hurt, early on Friday, was Wells coming into the café with a grimace.

“What’s up?” Clarke asked him, barely awake. Today would be a long day, but they were ready for whatever may come. Or so Clarke believed.

Wells took out a folded flyer from his pocket and slid it on the counter. “Deep breaths...”

Clarke opened the flyer, her heart dropping in her stomach when she read it: _FINN’S COFFEE & BAGELS OPEN MIC EVENT. FRIDAY TO SUNDAY, 10AM TO 6PM. 50% OFF EVERY PURCHASE._

Clarke gritted her teeth. “I’m going to murder him.”

Wells cringed. “I guess now’s not the time to add he finalized his deal with _Titus & Son_ to sell his bagels?”

Clarke crumpled the flyer in her hands. “No, Wells, now is not the best time.”

Feeling a blind rage course through her, Clarke grabbed her coat and went out the back of the café, passing a baffled Gaia.

She walked down the street with fury in her eyes, fully intending on finding Finn Collins wherever he might be hiding. She’d wait him out at his house if she fucking needed to. But his shop down the street was a good start - his _hideous_ coffee shop with the large letters of his name on every available surface, even the plastic forks.

When she opened the door, it was with the force of her anger. When she walked inside, it was with clenched fists. She scanned the moderately crowded area for a pretentious suit and a cocky grin, knowing he had to be expecting her. That bastard had made sure she’d only learn about his copycat event at the last possible minute, but she’d speak her mind. Oh he was going to hear her.

Or he would have.

Clarke’s resolve crumpled when she spotted the last person she’d expected to see. It felt like whiplash. There, sitting at a corner table, typing away, was Lexa. Clarke had to blink a few times to believe her own eyes, but there was no mistaking her. Whatever momentum she’d gained screeched to a halt.

And when their eyes met, when Lexa finally spotted her and stilled, equally surprised to see Clarke, it felt like time slowed. Clarke couldn’t even explain why it hurt so badly to see her there, just that it did. Because of course. Of course Lexa would take her habit elsewhere. Of course she would go to the chain hell-bent on driving Clarke’s business into the ground.

She hadn’t been sure what to make of Lexa’s disappearance; if she was just too busy, cutting down on caffeine, or perhaps trying to save up on cash for the holidays coming up. It wasn’t any of Clarke’s business to know. But seeing her in Finn’s shop, on the same street, typing away like she always did, drinking some green monstrosity… rational thinking flew out the window. Lexa had the sense to look away at least, though her hands didn’t move on the keyboard anymore.

Clarke couldn’t even stand the sight of her, so deeply embarrassed that she’d invited her to come over when all this time Lexa had already chosen a different establishment. Embarrassed that she’d hoped to see her at her usual spot again. Embarrassed that she even cared.

With the taste of bitter disappointment in her mouth, Clarke left without even bothering to find Finn. Her body felt numb, like the sight of Lexa had replaced her anger with ice. It felt personal and Clarke didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how a person could seem to care one day and look away the next. Could it truly be because she had refused the interview? Was that the way Lexa did things? Stuck around for a story until she was sure there was nothing to be squeezed out? Clarke couldn’t think of another reason.

Whatever it was, she was done seeking Lexa out.

* * *

The open mic was neither a success nor a failure. It was inevitable that they took a hit following Finn’s own event, which Clarke refused to think about. She could only hope he’d had as small a profit as _Baker's_ had, though in the end new clientele did come and there was the possibility that they would come again. That was good. They’d had fun, too, especially when Wells and Harper had decided to do some improv to warm up the room.

Despite the pleasant weekend, Clarke was relieved when it came to an end, her body still feeling the effects of long days and short nights. She had what felt like three knots in her back, all of them maddeningly out of reach.

She sipped on her own coffee in between orders that Tuesday, relatively glad for the busy pace. Busy meant she didn’t have time to think. Gaia, Harper and her moved around one another with practiced ease, communicating swiftly whenever necessary. Clarke didn’t want a second to herself. Whenever she had a moment, she went in the back to check on their stock. She counted jars. She undid and redid her ponytail. There was absolutely no reason for her to think about the past Friday. None at all. She had far more important things to do.

Raven came in after lunch hours, peeking into the kitchen while she took off her hat. Clarke followed her with amusement, wondering why she was acting like a sleuth. 

“Wells is on his break,“ she told her.

“Oh I know.” Raven turned to her and lowered her voice. “I need to talk to you.”

“What’s up?”

Raven went around the counter. "Did you get him a birthday present yet?”

Clarke rearranged the presentation of their last few sandwiches on display. “Did I get him a present six weeks in advance? No.”

Raven grinned. “Perfect. I got him the best seats to this new play - _Nowhere Ground_ \- big fucking hit he’s been pissed isn’t on his season pass. But then I started thinking: how amazing would it be if I could get him a backstage tour of the Music Hall too?”

Clarke could guess where this was going. “You think if I had contacts there I wouldn’t have pounced on them already? Besides, you’re closer to the entertainment business than I am. Doesn’t your team know people?”

Raven shook her head. “Too prideful. Theater rivalry and all that.”

Clarke slid closed the display window. “Well… you could ask Niylah? I think her dad does deliveries for the Music Hall. He might know someone.”

“Niylah who I barely know and who you dumped?”

“I didn’t du- okay, just tell me what you need.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Spill.”

“Well my guys couldn’t be bothered, but I did get a tip-off that the Music Hall crew hangs out at _Barton_ after Saturday shows. I figured we could go together, schmooze a bit-“

“Wait a minute- _Barton?_ ”

“I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no way Daddy’s Boy will be there mingling with tech crew. Besides, the place has changed a lot since college.”

Clarke glanced at the front door, desperate for a new customer to give her a way out. “Why am I being roped into this again?”

“Because I can’t actually do the flirting.”

Clarke pretended to think about it for a second. “Right. I’ll pass.”

“Clarke,” Raven groaned. “It’s for your best friend! And you might actually meet someone out of it.”

“Someone like Finn?” Clarke asked pointedly.

“Someone good for you,” Raven amended. “But if you’re really not feeling it, you can just slip in a word about your café to a whole crew who’ll probably end up hungover and in dire need of quality coffee and sugar the next day.”

“Raven…”

“What do you have to lose?”

“A nice warm bath while I catch up on my book?”

“Sometimes I look at you and wonder how the fuck you’re single, but then these words come out of your mouth and I remember.”

“You kiss Wells with that mouth?”

“And he loves it. Come on, Clarke. Please?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if anyone makes puns about my buns, I’m out.”

“Fair.”

* * *

Clarke met Octavia Blake just ten minutes after stepping into _Barton_ that Saturday night. Clarke had opted for dark fitted pants and a low-cut top paired with her midnight blue blazer, though in this weather she’d regretted not taking her coat instead. She’d curled her hair and made an effort with her makeup, just enough to at least cover her fatigue. 

Clarke hadn’t been to _Barton_ since college, where, yes, she had regrettably met Finn and fallen for his then boyish charm. She’d been swept up in the thrill of dating a politician’s son and he’d been after a way to hurt his long-distance girlfriend - that was all there was to know about it all. Clarke’s regret was that she had been blind for too long. But Raven was right to say the place was different - and the last time they’d all been here felt like forever ago now. Finn himself hadn’t changed much, but Clarke hardly recognized herself in pictures from that time, where her hair went down to her waist and most of her clothes were paint-stained. Everything had been different then; less predictable maybe.

But there was something comforting about habits too. Clarke had that feeling when they walked into the bar, suddenly recognizing everything from the tables to the ceiling. It wasn’t the place that had changed but the people. Gone were the college juniors and seniors, now working adults with better clothes and sharper features. _Barton_ had a sprawling design, with small rooms connected to each other and three different bars. Raven grabbed her hand and led her to the busiest one, where the people couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than theater crew. Huddled together with beers in hand, they wore sweatshirts and baseball caps and some even still with gaffer tape hanging from lanyards at the side of their jeans. 

By the sound of them, they were happy to be done for the weekend. There was something infectious about their energy and their tired grins.

“Raven fucking Reyes!” A woman called out after they had gotten their beers.

“Octavia?” Raven gasped aloud. “What the fuck?”

Before Clarke even saw it coming, Octavia had wrapped her arms around Raven and just about lifted her off the ground.

“Shit, what did they feed you at Yale?” Raven asked while laughing.

Octavia stepped back with a wide smile. “Just the regular ramen, but I did take up boxing.”

“Figures.” Raven turned to Clarke. “Clarke, this is Octavia - a little punk I used to tutor.”

“Would’ve never gotten into Yale without that big brain helping me,” Octavia added. “What’ve you been up to?” 

“Definitely didn’t pack on more muscle. I’m a sound engineer at the Swan House.”

“Awesome, lots of sound people around tonight. I’ll introduce you guys.”

Raven glanced at Clarke with a knowing smirk. 

“Do you work at the Music Hall?” Clarke asked Octavia.

“Not exclusively. I’m a stunt coordinator,” Octavia said, clearly proud. “I’m also an instructor at my friend’s gym in the Green Strip.”

“Damn,” Raven said. “How the hell did you land in Costial after I kicked your ass to Yale?”

Octavia chuckled. “Well I did meet the love of my life at Yale - it just worked out that his family's here in _theater city_ and we could both find plenty of work."

“Is he here?“ Raven asked.

"Oh he’s always a bit longer after shows, but he’ll be around soon. Come on, let me introduce you both to the crew.”

They met riggers and lighting technicians, costumers and makeup artists amongst others. Clarke had forgotten how nice it was to see new faces without waiting to hear their order. It was almost like a reflex now, but everyone was warm and welcoming. Clarke had no doubt that Raven would get Wells his backstage tour, and possibly even more.

After a while they sat at one of the side tables, starting on their second beers. Clarke was listening to Octavia when she looked up and the widest smile spread on her face.

“Linc’!” she called.

Clarke looked toward the man and froze in her seat, cursing her bad luck. Octavia’s boyfriend, the _playwright_. His cousin was right by his side like she had been at the Polis Hotel, looking more jaded than Clarke could imagine anyone being at _Barton_. When their eyes met, Lexa stopped and seemed to come alive. But Clarke refused to back down this time, remembering how she’d been the one to look away at the party. Lexa had still been a mystery then. It had felt exciting to catch each other across a crowded room. Now Clarke only felt her own pride refusing to let this woman have any lasting hold on her.

Finally Lexa did look away, glancing toward the bar before she walked there. Octavia dragged her boyfriend to their table.

“Linc’, this is Raven and her friend Clarke. Guys, this is Lincoln.”

“Raven who got you into Yale?” Lincoln asked with a kind smile.

“Psh, she got herself into Yale,” Raven answered. “I just nudged her in the right direction.”

* * *

After a while, Clarke excused herself from their table. She’d enjoyed hearing Lincoln talk about the play - and both Raven and her had plenty theater gossip to regale Wells with - but eventually Raven and Octavia moved on to reminiscing and Lincoln stood up to catch up with his colleagues.

Knowing that Raven had clearly found the connections she needed, Clarke got up as well and roamed around each room with her last beer in hand. She looked toward the end of the room and found Lexa alone at a table, one empty drink in hand and her phone in the other. 

Of course. 

Lexa looked up at the very moment, and surprisingly, stood up to walk toward her. Too startled, Clarke barely had the time to pretend she had another destination in mind.

“Clarke-”

“What?” She asked, perhaps too abruptly. 

“Could we sit down and talk?” Lexa asked.

“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.“

Lexa swallowed thickly before nodding and looking down at the drink in her hand. Her quick acceptance strangely angered Clarke. She watched as Lexa regained her isolated table and ran her hand through her hair. Still clinging to her bottle, and despite knowing that over two beers were fuel for bad decisions, Clarke stepped toward her.

"Actually I do have a question,” she said. “What the hell is your problem?”

Lexa quickly looked up, eyes flashing with affront. “Excuse me?”

“You start talking to me, telling me about a side-job opportunity, inviting me to the premiere of a packed play, and then you treat me like the plague.”

"I wasn’t aware being friendly came with so many expectations.”

Clarke reeled from the coldness. “You can’t be serious.”

“What do you really want to say, Clarke?” Lexa asked.

“It’s because I refused to be interviewed, isn’t it?”

This seemed to upset Lexa. “I’m a professional, not a child.”

Clarke didn’t believe a word of it. “Is that the kind of journalist you are? Entitled to other people’s stories? Resentful when they turn you down?”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?” Lexa asked with a clenched jaw.

“I thought we were getting along, that we-”

“What? That we owe each other anything because we had a few chats?”

It hurt, perhaps more than it should have. Lexa was right - it had only been a few conversations - but there had clearly been a shift after Clarke had turned Lexa down. And Clarke was disappointed. Disappointed that the woman she had made up in her mind had turned out to be so bitter. Disappointed that she’d allowed herself to believe Lexa might look at her differently one day.

“You know - if you want to keep sitting at tables alone and tune out the world, you go ahead and do that.”

Lexa stood up, her stool scraping against the floor. 

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Clarke felt her blood run hot. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hiding your talent behind your counter, afraid to take a chance on something new. Not exactly eager to step out of your comfort zone, are you?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Clarke snapped.

“I know you draw whenever there’s a lull. I know it must mean something to you, even if you put every single one of them in the trash when you’re done.”

Clarke was taken aback for a moment, but recovered swiftly. “Not everyone needs their hobby to become a business. Who do you think you are acting like you can read people based on a few minutes of their lives?”

“That would be _my_ job - one you seemed to find interesting at the market,” Lexa answered dryly, but with such an air of arrogance that Clarke felt suddenly spiteful. 

“You think the Gazette is so fucking important? Get over yourself, Lexa.”

“At least I put myself out there,” Lexa retorted harshly. 

“At least I’m honest,” Clarke fumed.

“With everyone but yourself it would seem.”

Clarke drew in a sharp breath. “You know what? You can talk all you want about integrity, but I’m not the one who tried to get closer in the hopes of getting a story. I’m not the one who wants everyone but herself to bare their fucking soul.”

Lexa looked like she had been slapped and Clarke knew she needed to leave before they made a scene. It was clear by now that they would never see eye to eye.

“I hope you and your new coffee shop are very happy together.”

* * *

Clarke walked out of the bar feeling grateful for the brutal cold. It felt like the only thing that might calm her down. She couldn’t believe the turn the night had taken. Couldn’t believe she’d even confronted Lexa, let alone snapped at her. Lexa’s indignation had only spurred her on, but what she’d said had awakened a snarling creature. Lexa didn’t have a clue what it took to run a business. Sacrifices were a part of it - she couldn’t just waste what precious time she had on pastimes. How arrogant could she be to act like she knew better?

Clarke had been so wrong. Lexa was a stuck-up, self-absorbed, entitled _bitch_ and there was no universe where Clarke would take a person like that to bed. She’d ruined things with Niylah for a feeling that had turned out so laughably wrong. Well, screw the vision. No one knew for certain that they were glimpses of the future. No one knew a damn thing.

“Clarke, wait up!”

Clarke turned and waited for Raven, who jogged toward her and then leaned down on her knees. “Jesus, you’re fast in heels.”

Clarke blinked, as if suddenly remembering she’d left without even checking on her friend. “Oh Raven, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Hey, it’s okay. What happened?”

“Nothing.“

"You hightailed out of that bar because nothing happened?”

Clarke shook her head, unable to get the words out.

“It’s that woman - Lincoln’s cousin, isn’t it? She’s played a number on you.”

“I didn’t meant to cut your evening short, you were having fun and-”

Raven grabbed her hand. “Hey, forget about that. You being safe and happy is more important to me.”

“Raven…”

“Come on, let’s go. I’m freezing my ass off.”

* * *

They settled in Raven’s car, warming up thanks to the heat. Raven drove slowly, giving Clarke ample time to calm down. In the small space and in the dark, Clarke felt like she could confess what she’d kept from everyone.

“I had a vision,” she said.

Raven’s eyes widened. “What? When? At the bar?”

“No, weeks ago.”

Raven quickly glanced at her. “Shit, Clarke. I mean- congrats! Why didn’t you say so earlier? You know we’ve been rooting for you.”

Clarke paused, her cheeks feeling hot. “I didn’t know how to… It was, um… sexual.”

Raven snorted. “Well, you know I saw Wells’ bare ass in the shower asking me to move in with him.”

Clarke laughed despite how heavy the moment felt. “Yeah, but this wasn’t like that. The way she held me-”

“She?” Raven asked, and then, “Oh. Same woman from the bar, right?”

“How do you know?”

“No offense, but this is the first time I’ve seen you this worked up about someone, and I was there during the Finn era.”

“Seven months aren’t an era,” Clarke argued.

“But it was her, wasn’t it?”

Clarke refused to replay her vision again. “I don’t know anymore. I thought it might be, but she’s so… she’s just not who I thought.”

“Then forget about who it was. Just take it as a wakeup call.”

Clarke looked at her. “Wakeup from that?”

Raven hesitated. “Clarke… don’t you realize how hard it’s been to hang out with you this past year?”

“I’m trying to run a business,” Clarke defended.

“Wells runs it too. Are you saying he’s slacking?”

“No, of course not. You know I couldn’t do it without him.”

“Right. But when Wells gets home, he leaves work at the door. We hang out or we go out, sometimes together, sometimes separately. He never misses a play and he rock climbs every chance he gets, even if just for an hour. The café means a lot to him, you know that, but it doesn’t mean everything.”

Clarke tried to imagine that for her. “Honestly that sounds exhausting. I can barely pick up my feet at the end of the day.”

Raven bit her lip. “For a while he felt the same, but then he kinda realized he was making excuses.”

Clarke frowned. “I go out.”

“Do you? Or do you wait for people to either ask or drag you out?”

“It’s just been busy with the holiday season,” Clarke justified.

“Before that it was the college season and before that it was summer. Don’t you have the budget to hire someone else at this point?”

Clarke sighed. “Wells talked about another full timer, and someone else on the weekends, but I haven’t really looked into it yet.”

“Right. All I’m saying is it’s not fun feeling like the bad guy for wanting to hang out with you.”

“Do you really feel that way?”

“I feel like you’ve made your business your spouse, but a place can’t be a home. So maybe seeing yourself bone a stranger is your body’s way of saying it needs something a bit more exciting than cold sheets and a 5am wakeup for the rest of your life.”

“You’re as eloquent as ever, Rae.”

Raven smiled as she turned into Clarke’s street. “I’m a genius.”

* * *

Clarke locked the door behind her and took off her coat, thinking about Raven’s words and the way the evening had panned out. The anger was snuffed out of her, replaced by exhaustion and a feeling of regret. She couldn’t believe she’d somehow given Lexa the power to upset her so thoroughly. That she’d believed for one second that Lexa might-

No, she wouldn’t replay each interaction again. She wouldn’t even think about her anymore. Clearly trying to cross the line between them had been a mistake. There was nothing to be gained from it. Lexa was only after stories - wanted secrets in exchange for dust, and Clarke never wanted to see her name in one of her pieces.

Raven was right: she’d focused too much on who had been in her vision rather than what it meant. She was lonely and she’d had a vivid fantasy - it was no more than that. People fantasized about strangers every day; about leading different lives with different people. The past year had seen her doing the same thing with the same people every day. It wasn’t strange that her subconscious would crave some excitement. She’d had such a fixed impression of Lexa; quiet, reserved, polite Lexa. Clarke could see why a part of her would find it thrilling to draw her out of her shell. To be the focus of Lexa’s razor-sharp attention and deft hands.

But her impression had been wrong. She’d acted on something that was never there in the first place. She'd let the vision influence her to the point of acting completely out of character. That was her mistake. 

Clarke took off her heels and walked to the bathroom to wash up. She put her hair up, washed her face, put on her pajamas and slipped into bed with the covers up to her neck. All she had to do was sleep it off. Tomorrow she could put these past few weeks behind her. Move past the vision. 

Lexa was never going to be a part of her life. She wasn’t a stranger or even a customer anymore. She wasn’t anything at all. Clarke turned around and buried her face in her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December to everyone ❤️


	2. Chapter 2

If there was someone or something overseeing their lives, pulling the strings of their destiny and purposefully nudging them toward specific paths, then Clarke wanted a fucking word with them.

It was a surprise, if not a shock, when she saw Lexa stroll into the shop with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. It was barely a week after Clarke had resolved not to think about her anymore, a plan that hadn’t always been successful. Lexa walked toward the counter with a proud chin, as if nothing had changed.

“Good morning,” she said.

Clarke could have thrown a mini Bundt cake at her if Wells hadn’t nearly burnt his apron making them.

“It was,” she answered, deciding that professionalism was not in the cards today.

“I’ll have some pie, please.“

“Humble?”

Lexa set her jaw. “And what would that taste like?”

Clarke smiled sardonically. “Bitter.”

Lexa held her stare before looking at the display. "I think I’ll try the mini Bundt.”

“For here or to go?” Clarke asked as she rang it up.

Lexa seemed disappointed to see that her usual seat by the weeping fig was occupied.

“Looks like it’s busy.”

“Faithful clientele,” Clarke retorted, and then, “for the most part.”

Lexa exhaled sharply before pulling out her wallet to pay in cash. “No problem, I’ll have it to go.”

Clarke put the mini Bundt in a paper bag. “No coffee?” she asked, though she didn’t care much for the answer.

“Not today.”

“I’m sorry we’re fresh out of kale juice.” It was a snippy comment that Clarke knew she was above making, but Lexa’s sudden reappearance had touched a nerve.

Whatever Lexa wanted to say, she visibly stopped herself. She grabbed her mini Bundt and then pulled out a sheet of paper from her bag.

“Would you mind if I put this up? It’s the ad for interviews.”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

“Offers change.”

“I don’t go back on my word,” Clarke answered stubbornly.

Lexa challenged her stare before nodding and walking toward the board. She scanned over each flyer, seemingly trying to figure out which one she could put hers next to. Finally she pinned it near the middle right. It was a sober flyer; no bold colors or giant fonts, but eye-catching in its minimalism compared to the busier ads surrounding it. As always, Lexa stuck to the basics.

Carrying her mini Bundt, she gave Clarke one last look before leaving. Clarke noticed the tip she’d left and hung her head before going back to her doodles. It was going to be a slow, rainy day.

* * *

It was a slow, rainy _week_. The wind came first; strong gusts that swept up old leaves and knocked down hats. A downpour followed on Wednesday, unrelenting and miserable. Customers came into the shop drenched, sticking their umbrellas in the already full stand by the entrance before rubbing their cold hands together.

Clarke liked watching their faces; the expressions of relief at finally finding some shelter and comfort from the brutal rain. It was gloomy outside but the café was everyone’s home for a little while, the colors still warm and the plants still thriving. She couldn’t help but enjoy these moments regardless of the cold, remembering this feeling was exactly why she’d gotten into this business in the first place.

Still, Clarke was human. An hour before closing time she was already fantasizing about hot tomato soup and the comfort of her bed. She’d finished chatting with a regular when Wells came in looking like he’d run a mile to get here. He usually left much earlier than she did, but sometimes swung back to check on things before driving to meet Raven at the theater.

“You want to read this,” he told her with barely contained excitement, clutching his phone against his soaked raincoat.

He rounded the counter and showed her the screen. It was an article from the Costial Gazette with a damning title:

_Finn’s Coffee & Bagels: Neither Fresh nor Clean_

“What is this?” Clarke asked, skimming the article. There were mentions of false advertising, misleading business practices, trouble brewing with the Federal Trade Commission, mentions of artificial preservatives despite claims of the contrary, and, to top off the proverbial shit cake, an anonymous employee detailing horrid management. It was a scalding report - one Clarke had dreamed of writing herself.

Understandably, Wells couldn’t stop grinning. “This is good, right? Especially the FTC stuff. Bad for him, good for us.”

Clarke was about to answer when a thought struck her. She quickly scrolled back up: _By Echo Blake and Lexa Woods._

Clarke shut her eyes closed. So maybe she’d jumped to conclusions when she’d seen Lexa at his shop. Maybe she’d made it personal. Who wouldn’t? Lexa was still… Lexa. Impossible to read and impossible to understand.

“Titus will drop him for sure,” Wells mused aloud. “How the hell did Finn get the old man to carry his brand anyway?”

“Money. Connections. Empty promises.” Clarke had no doubt about that. “That’s mostly how Finn gets what he wants.”

Wells was still smiling from ear to ear when he texted Raven a link to the article. “Looks like it finally bit him in the ass. We should send the Gazette a Thank You cake.”

Clarke leaned her elbows on the counter and let out a noncommittal grunt.

“What’s wrong?” Wells asked. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“Oh I’m happy. Just thinking about the humble pie I’m gonna have to eat myself.”

* * *

Naturally, Clarke had to wait another week before Lexa dared show up again. She’d noticed that her ad had attracted some attention - curious customers reading it and then pocketing a tear-off tab - and was anticipating Lexa would come in to either replace it or take it down.

When she did, it was during the usual afternoon lull and Clarke felt nervous. Now that she knew her anger had stemmed from… well, a combination of things but also an overreaction, she was embarrassed by the way she’d previously spoken to Lexa.

When Lexa walked in, Clarke was cleaning one of the coffee machines. It was her distorted reflection that she saw in the nozzle; her discreet gait as she walked toward the board and unpinned her ad. Clarke figured she would leave immediately, but Lexa approached the counter. Her eyes scanned over the display.

“Can I get you anything?” Clarke tentatively asked.

Lexa looked up and readjusted the strap of her satchel. “Are there any baby Bundts left?”

Clarke shook her head. “All out. It’s pecan tartlet week. But Wells liked making them, burnt apron aside - we could put them back in the rotation this month.”

Lexa seemed surprised Clarke even suggested something that would please her. “That’s alright; I’ll just wait.”

“Regular coffee?” Clarke asked.

Lexa nodded while looking away. “Sure.”

As Clarke poured Lexa’s regular in a paper cup, she couldn’t help but feel like this was their first conversation all over again. Odd and stilted but also one that she didn’t want to end so soon. Clarke capped the coffee and turned to her.

“I read your article on FC&B. It’s really good.” She gave her the cup. “Personal bias aside.”

A small smile graced Lexa’s face and Clarke felt a thrill. “My co-writer did most of the investigative work.”

“But you did some too,” Clarke remembered, knowing Lexa would also recollect the time Clarke had spotted her in Finn’s shop. “Tried their juice and everything.”

Lexa’s nose scrunched subtly. “If that’s what you want to call it. But still, Echo deserves the credit for the piece. It was her story from the beginning; I was mostly a sounding board.”

Something about Lexa dismissing her own work bothered Clarke. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“I’ve read your stuff before; I know there was some of you in that article. Just take the compliment, Lexa.”

There was that fierce light in Lexa’s eyes again. “It’s not fully mine to take.”

“I guess they just put your name on there to fill space?”

Lexa pressed her lips together, unimpressed with the sarcasm.

Clarke huffed. “Why are you so-” She couldn’t even finish her question, unsure where to start. Why couldn’t they communicate normally? Why did every sentence feel like a mountain to climb? And how on earth did Lexa push her buttons without even lifting a finger?

“You’re frustrated,” Lexa pointed out.

“I am.”

“With me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No. I’ve been told I can be frustrating before.”

She said it with such a jaded expression that Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. “God, how could I ever think…”

“Think what?” Lexa asked without skipping a beat.

Clarke shook her head and walked to the end of the counter. “Nothing.”

Lexa followed. “You know, I’m not the only one who sidesteps questions.”

There was something unnerving about her tone, like she was challenging her, and Clarke wasn’t known to be a graceful loser.

“You don’t want the answers.”

“Try me. You might be surprised.”

Clarke scoffed, then decided she wouldn’t back away any longer. “What do you really want to ask, Lexa?” It was the same turn of phrase Lexa had used on her at the bar; the frustration of unspoken truths reaching a boiling point.

“What did you see?” Lexa inquired, never once looking away from her.

Clarke hesitated. They couldn’t do this here, now… could they?

“Clarke,” Lexa said, almost like a plea.

Clarke wasn’t sure she’d ever heard her name said that way. She waited a beat. “Fine. I saw you.”

Lexa visibly swallowed. “What about me?”

“You’re a journalist. Guess.”

“Good journalists don’t guess. I would need some information to first form a hypothesis and then-”

“You kissed me,” Clarke interjected, fed up with logic.

Lexa’s mouth clamped shut, so Clarke continued:

“And I mean you kissed me _everywhere_. Is that enough to form a hypothesis?”

Lexa processed for a moment, her cheeks a shade darker. “It explains… things.”

“Why?” Clarke paused, thinking it through. “Did you have…”

“Yes.”

“The same?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well? Spit it out.”

Lexa looked around them, but no one paid them any attention. “I was making coffee. In my underwear.”

Clarke frowned, unsure she’d heard her correctly. "You’re kidding, right? I make coffee every day, how is that so embarrassing you couldn’t tell me?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Lexa weakly said. “I don't… _like_ … coffee. Hate it. Any hot beverage actually.”

“You hate coffee,” Clarke repeated incredulously, eyes going to the very cup Lexa was holding.

“But I was making it,” Lexa reiterated. “In an apartment that wasn’t mine. With doodles framed everywhere. After recognizing the style, I figured… I was making it for _you_.”

Clarke stepped back, bewildered. She had never once thought that Lexa might’ve seen the same thing she had, or something close, or even seen _her_. She wasn’t even sure what that meant, if anything at all.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

It was like everything had shifted in the span of a few seconds, the before and after she had revealed what she’d seen. It was different now. Lexa knew, and _she knew_ , and everything that had brought them here took on a different meaning. Lexa starting a dialogue; Lexa inviting her to a play; Lexa catching her eyes from across a room. She had been trying to solve a puzzle too; trying to understand what she might’ve missed before.

But.

Something between them never quite… locked. For the first time, Clarke realized that Lexa was just as wildly out of her depth as she was. Even in her anger she’d put Lexa on a pedestal; seen her as the diligent journalist with the clever words and the impenetrable stare. Now she saw Lexa as someone looking for answers just as she was. They’d both been trying to form a connection based on a vision - maybe that was the problem.

“Well, that kind of takes the surprise out of it,” she said, finally exhaling.

Lexa opened and shut her mouth, unsure where to go from there. She settled on a mute nod while Clarke fiddled with her hands, glancing toward the front door and praying for someone to walk in. No such miracle happened quickly enough.

“Thank you for telling me.” Lexa had gone quieter; introspective in the way Clarke was used to.

“Yep.” Clarke rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s probably for the best that- I mean, it’s a relief actually.”

“It is. I’m sorry if I acted strangely,” Lexa said. “I was confused.”

“Right. Because we barely knew each other.”

“Exactly.”

“And I mean… we were both clearly trying to see if there was something… there, and, I don’t know that-”

Lexa’s eyes flashed to hers. “No, of course not. I’m just a customer.”

Clarke frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s true. We were drawn to each other because of something out of our control. It’s something I’ve heard a lot in recent interviews. A guy walking up to a woman after he had a vision of her dress. A wife divorcing her husband because she had a vision of herself accepting a drink from a stranger.”

Lexa seemed to have gone back into business mode and Clarke didn’t know if it was some sort of deflecting mechanism. Regardless, Clarke had never felt this awkward in her life. Like she might trip on her own feet if she even moved.

“So the visions push us to act a certain way,” she tried to catch on.

Lexa nodded. “I’m exploring the theory that they’re just one thread among hundreds of others. No one is forced to pull that one specifically. Nothing is ever inevitable.”

Clarke didn’t know what else she could do but nod in acknowledgment. That was it? People got life-altering information from their visions but she got a _theory_ from the woman she shared the supposedly most exciting event of her life with?

“I’m glad we could clear the air.”

“Absolutely,” Lexa agreed.

Silence stretched for what felt like a minute before Lexa looked at her watch. “Speaking of interviews, I have a phone call soon.”

“Great. Hope it’s helpful.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

When Lexa started to leave, Clarke suddenly remembered something. “Wait!”

Lexa looked at her with wide eyes, practically in disbelief Clarke would want to prolong the excruciating moment.

“One more thing,” Clarke said.

“Yes?”

Clarke took a deep breath. “Was it a date?”

Lexa frowned. “What?”

“When you offered me a ticket to Lincoln’s play. When you mentioned the after party. Were you asking me out?”

“You’d mentioned wanting to see a play,” Lexa stammered. “I had the spare ticket.”

“Did you want to pull the thread, Lexa?” Clarke asked, feeling a surge of confidence. Now that the secret was out, she needed to know everything. She needed their bizarre back-and-forths to have an explanation.

Lexa froze. “I’m a journalist; I investigate. You were my only lead.”

It affected her more than it should have, considering Clarke had promised herself she wouldn’t let Lexa Woods get to her again.

Lexa must’ve noticed. “I didn’t mean- you’re obviously not just-”

“It’s fine. I get it. I wanted to be sure too.” Clarke turned to grab a towel for the counter. “It’s like you said: nothing is inevitable. I’m glad we got it squared away.”

Lexa nodded weakly. “So everything can go back to the way it used to be.”

“Sure.”

“I look forward to tomorrow’s new batch,” Lexa told her politely before leaving.

Clarke dropped her towel and sat on the stool they kept behind the counter. Lexa was back in her life, but somehow it felt worse to return to normal. Somehow all Clarke could think about was that Lexa wanted to pull their damn thread but something was keeping her from it.

And maybe it was time to admit she might’ve hoped Lexa and her were inevitable.

* * *

Pretending things hadn't changed might've been the dumbest thing Clarke had ever agreed to do. When Lexa dropped in the following days, sometimes in the morning and other times in the afternoon, Clarke knew there was no going back to whatever their normal had been.

This was the woman she'd shared a vision with - that didn't go away after one rushed conversation. But Lexa seemed to choose the busiest moments and Clarke couldn't exactly leave Gaia and Harper to manage the orders so she could pick Lexa Woods' brain.

It was the doodles she thought about the most. Lexa had mentioned seeing some framed, but Clarke didn't have anything like that at her place. She had sketches and portraits from college lying around in closets and pressed between the pages of the books on her coffee table, but that was it. The only piece she'd framed had been a charcoal landscape her dad had liked and specifically requested for his birthday. Clarke didn't frame any of her art, let alone _doodles_. Those were for her own piece of mind; a way to entertain herself when all the coffee machines were cleaned, all their customers were happy, and the phone was quiet.

So what could she have possibly scribbled that would be worth framing? And how far in the future could it be?

Clarke was pondering the very question while she went through stock in the back of the café. It was a small, cramped room with her desk in a corner, but it was tidy and, most importantly, it was quiet. Until people bust in announced, that was.

"Hey!"

Clarke clutched her heart. "Raven, oh my God! Why do you hate knocking so much?"

Raven laughed. "Because then I miss that look on your face."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's 6:30pm and you didn't answer my text about the party."

"It is?" Clarke glanced at her watch. "Fuck." She focused back on Raven and vaguely remembered the email she'd gotten earlier this week. Octavia and Lincoln were having a housewarming party tonight and had invited her. Clarke knew she'd clicked on it but the café had gotten a call at the same time and she'd forgotten about it after. She didn't know Octavia or Lincoln beyond meeting them once, so she was fairly certain they'd invited her on Raven's request.

"I forgot. I'm not going," she decided.

"It was rhetorical, grandma!" Raven exclaimed. "Wells and I are stopping by his parents for a bite and then we're picking you up. It starts at nine."

Clarke shook her head. "I barely know these people."

Raven paused. "You know what? I'm not doing this again. You don't want to go, that's fine."

"Raven."

"No, I'm serious. I'm not responsible for your social life anymore. I quit."

Clarke crossed her arms. "For someone who works in a theater you're a really shitty actress."

Raven narrowed her eyes at her. Clarke held her gaze before huffing and throwing her hands up. "Fine. I'll go."

Raven smirked. "Pick you up at 8:45. Oh and I'm pretty sure Lexa will be there. Bye!"

"What? Raven!"

Clarke was in a grumpy mood that entire evening, pulling clothes out of her closet and putting them back in for a good thirty minutes before she settled on what to wear. She didn't get like this. She knew what worked on her body and what made her look like a potato sack barely stitched together. This wasn't a date or even an intimate get-together. It was going to be an apartment packed with new faces and most likely very little room to walk around, let alone take in what people were wearing beyond blotches of fabric and color. With that in mind, she stuck to a navy blue dress and a sweater, having spotted some angry clouds on her way home. She grabbed her coat when Raven called to tell her they were waiting in their car, and was out the door after taking a deep breath.

There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.

* * *

Octavia and Lincoln's apartment in the Green Strip was on the highest floor of their building, a spacious three bedroom with earthy tones and wooden furniture. There was something immediately welcoming about it when Clarke stepped inside behind Wells and Raven, smiling at Octavia when they were all greeted with a hug.

"You made it," Octavia beamed, soon ushering them into another room where they could put their coats. 

They were directed to the living room, a wide open floor plan with the kitchen on one side. Tall windows opened to a balcony, still empty from what Clarke could see. The room was already buzzing with at least twenty people, some that Clarke recognized from the night at _Barton,_ others not at all. She could see why Octavia and Lincoln would want to show off the place - it was perfect for entertaining.

"See Wells, this is a couple's place, not your den beneath the ground," Raven elbowed him playfully.

"You like my den. You _moved into_ my den," Wells reminded her.

"Only because you're freakishly clean and it always smells like apple pie."

Octavia laughed. "Trust me, you have it good. It took Linc' and I forever to settle on a place together."

"Is it pure coincidence you're this far from the Polis Hotel?" Raven asked jokingly.

Lincoln rubbed the back of his head with a smile. "I appreciate my heritage, but some distance from it never hurts. Besides, this is close to Octavia's work and I can write anywhere."

Octavia gave his arm a gentle squeeze, their eyes locking while Raven fussed with the collar of Wells' shirt. Clarke was used to it by now - feeling like the third or fifth wheel, that was - but it didn't prevent her heart from sinking a little bit. The front door buzzer seemed like her saving grace from the display of domestic bliss. 

"Please, feel free to grab a beer, wine, chips - we've got it all!" Octavia told them before darting away.

Raven grabbed Clarke's arm. "Let's leave the men to find common ground," she said, giving Wells a subtle wink before ushering Clarke toward the drinks set up in the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Clarke asked.

"Wells thinks Lincoln is going to be the next playwright superstar. He's crushing hard."

"He hasn't even seen his play yet."

Raven poured herself a glass of red. "Octavia sent us a copy of the script after I told her about his birthday gift. Wells practically peed himself when he opened the email."

"Cute."

"You know him, he only read the first ten pages to preserve the theatergoing experience."

They shared a knowing look and laughed. "Nerd," they both said affectionately.

Raven glanced over Clarke’s shoulder and then smiled widely. "Speaking of nerds, yours seems to be having a ball."

Clarke turned around in confusion. When two people moved, she caught a glimpse of Lexa in a plaid shirt sitting on a couch alone, head down while she typed something on her phone.

"Definitely not mine," Clarke muttered while grabbing a beer on the table.

"What do you think is her deal?" Raven asked. 

"I don't know. It's none of my business."

Lexa had shown at the Polis Hotel she could be the center of attention if she wanted, so Clarke had given up on guessing. 

Raven arched a brow. "You want it to be, don't you?"

"I'm not going to pine over someone who isn't sure if they want me or not."

Raven took her shoulders and turned her around to face the room. "Good thing there's other eligible people here. And we're talking crew; that's carpenters and painters and electricians - plenty of talented, rough hands to make your dreams come true."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "I should've never told you."

"You started a business from the ground up. I know you have it in you to charm the pants and skirts off of everyone here."

"Raven. I don't want..."

"What? What do you want, Clarke?"

Unsure how to even start answering, Clarke took a sip of her beer and shook her head. "Forget it. Let's just have a good time."

Raven squeezed her shoulder. "Let me make sure my boyfriend hasn't started sweating his ass off."

"You really make him sound so lovely."

Raven laughed. "Yep, and he's all mine!"

* * *

No one started a business without some talent in schmoozing. Raven was right about that. But it was one thing to be driven by passion and another to be driven by... well, Clarke wasn't entirely sure. She knew her dry spell wasn't sustainable, as evidenced by how tense she felt most of the time, but the end of her casual relationship with Niylah hadn't been for no reason either. _Casual_ wasn't what she wanted anymore.

So tonight she'd learned some names and talked about her café, laughed at jokes and listened to stories, a lot of them about the visions, still the go-to topic that could last for hours. But inevitably Clarke knew she'd be asked about hers, which was why she discreetly excused herself from a group before it could come to that.

She was sipping on her second beer when the person whose gaze she'd carefully avoided all night approached her. 

"Hello."

Clarke turned from her spot by the wall, her grip on her beer tightening. "This is a surprise. I thought you were hiding in some other room."

Lexa shrugged. "Stay too long in one spot and someone is bound to notice you. Theater people can be… enthusiastic after one too many drinks."

"Something tells me it's not just theater people you keep at arm's length."

Clarke saw something flash on Lexa's face, almost like hurt. It was true though - Clarke had never seen Lexa with a friend. She'd always come to the shop alone; sat alone; worked alone. She'd never been around with a colleague either on her lunch breaks, which told Clarke she possibly kept her life carefully split. Clearly she hung out with her cousin and his entourage, but didn't she have a Wells or Raven in her own life? 

"Well, I'm here now. I was hoping we could get to know each other," Lexa said.

Clarke looked away with a curt laugh. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Feel obliged to talk to me because you go to my coffee shop. We don't need to make weird small talk because we're at the same party."

"That's a bit harsh."

Clarke's head snapped toward her. "Harsh?"

"'Weird small-talk' - is that what we do?" Lexa asked.

"I think you made it pretty clear there is no _we_."

"Lex!" Octavia called out, prompting her to turn around.

Octavia walked toward her with one of the houseguests, an older man with salt and pepper hair.

"This is Semet. We were just talking about his vision- I think you want to hear him out."

He smiled at her. "Octavia told me you were compiling stories?"

Clarke felt she was the odd one out and slipped away.

"Oh uh, yes, I am," Lexa told him, briefly looking over her shoulder before she extended her hand. "I'm Lexa."

Clarke didn't hear the rest, but as she saw the various groups of people talking, she felt out of place. Even Wells and Raven were deep in conversation with another couple, his hand casually resting on her waist. 

The party was nice, and Lincoln and Octavia couldn't have been more welcoming. They clearly kept good company and, in any other situation, Clarke might've been more comfortable easing her way into another conversation. As it was, she realized just how unsociable she'd been in the past year and habits died hard.

Feeling unsettled, she sneaked out the open front door for a breather. Raven's words after _Barton_ came back to her - the deliberate choices she'd made to stay home instead of going out. She'd kept her distances and now it was no surprise she felt so rusty. Nothing had really changed aside from the café's opening. The change in lifestyle had been a shock, but Wells had worked just as hard as her - if not more, especially on their bakes - and had still managed to find a balance in his life. She'd never really asked him about it, assuming it was simply in his DNA to be absolutely brilliant at everything.

But Clarke wasn't horrible at managing her time either. It wouldn't be that difficult to have a life outside of her business, she could admit that much. She just hadn't put in the work and now it showed. 

Dipping her toe back in the dating pool felt daunting. She'd never tried dating apps and couldn't imagine putting her energy into that. Harper was on three different ones and from the chats she'd overheard with Gaia, it always seemed like an endless struggle of deciding what was appropriate and what wasn't. 

Clutching her beer close, Clarke spotted a stairwell at her right and decided to try her luck. She made her way up and stepped out to the rooftop. There was an area with planter boxes and some chairs, which Clarke figured had to be communal. It was a pretty relaxing setup and she was sure summer saw a lot of tenants up here, but the promise of rain and the chilly wind tonight left it empty.

Unperturbed, Clarke walked to the area and stood by the tall parapet, resting her forearms on it. She took deep, calming breaths as she looked over the residential streets of Costial, the city she'd called home for ten years now. She could barely make out the mountain chain in the distance, but she knew it was there, majestic as ever surrounded by the sprawling forest. She briefly thought about the Mountain Men and how they'd survived for a century beneath the ground. What it must've felt like to see the same people every day, to never meet a stranger, or to never feel the sun on their faces.

"So maybe you don't like small-talk with _anyone_."

Clarke didn't need to turn around to know that voice by now. "I just needed some air for a few minutes."

Lexa leaned against the parapet next to her, though with a good three feet between them.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I was thinking about the Mountain Men actually. How abandoned they must've felt."

Lexa looked toward the horizon, where the mountains hid in the night. "They _were_ forgotten, but I don't think they dwelled on it. You'd be surprised how many good stories I had to leave out to fit my report. Memories about times where their parents and their grandparents laughed, kissed each other, and danced together. People are resilient no matter the cards they're dealt. They made lives for themselves - different from ours, but who's to say they were any less fulfilling?"

Clarke turned to her, not knowing what to say for a moment. It didn’t escape her that Lexa seemed to genuinely want to engage with her. 

"It must've been fascinating to listen to them."

"It was. Opening the channels of communication took time, but I went into journalism for these stories."

"Have they had visions?" Clarke asked, curious.

Lexa shook her head before taking a sip of her own beer. "I didn't ask. It wasn't appropriate at the time and looking back I know it would've made them uncomfortable. They're very… spiritual. Connected to the world in a way we could never be. I'm sure their insight would be fascinating, but some lines shouldn't be crossed."

Clarke lifted her bottle. "I'll drink to that."

Lexa smiled back, drinking another sip of her own.

"So did Semet say anything that throws a wrench in your theories?" Clarke wondered.

Lexa chuckled and looked over at the city again. "He gave me his number to talk further, but he did mention he wasn't in it. Only saw his brother."

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "His brother?"

"Hm-mm. That got my attention too. I don't think I've ever heard about someone not being in their own vision."

"Seems like we still have new things to learn."

Lexa considered her next words carefully. "Writing about people's visions has been… the most gratifying experience of my career. It's pushed me to think differently and it's changed the way I work."

Clarke could tell it wasn't easy for Lexa to talk about it. Not her work, but the way it made her feel. Maybe it was just a morsel, but she was opening up and it was more than Clarke had ever heard from her.

"I haven’t drawn any conclusions and I probably don't know any more than a blogger or someone's Twitter thread," Lexa continued with a small shrug. "But there's still a part of me that questions the degree of influence. I've heard too many stories about people being changed to their core to not be slightly wary."

Clarke frowned: "You don't think they're a positive thing?"

"I told you about the woman who left her husband because of a vision. Do you think he'd see her vision as a positive? I wouldn't say they're either/or, but the repercussions aren't negligible."

"Leaving him was her interpretation of it, though. We can't know for sure that's what the vision meant."

Lexa nodded. "You're right. It'll always be up to the person who has it."

Clarke cleared her throat. "You and I - we had the same one. I had the _during_ , you had the _after_. Has that ever happened?"

Lexa tilted her head to the side. "Not that I've heard of, but it might not have been…" she trailed off, tongue-tied.

"What? The same time?"

"Hm."

Clarke laughed before taking another sip of her beer. "Alright then."

Lexa looked away with a growing smile. "You're the one who brought up interpretation."

"Uh-huh. If that's what you want to tell yourself."

It was flirting plain and simple and Clarke was very aware they both knew it. She'd missed it - that flutter in the pit of her stomach when flirting with someone. The first steps around each other; testing the waters; knowing the attraction had to be mutual by now. This was a game she could play. 

" _Twice_ ," Clarke hummed. "That's very presumptuous of you."

"I'm just taking the facts at face value. There's no clear indication of a timeline and-"

"Do you know I'm not even sure it was you?" Clarke interrupted.

Lexa narrowed her eyes. "You said it was."

"I guessed. Messy brown hair, slim but fit - could be anyone."

Lexa pushed off from the parapet, stepping closer. "I don't believe you."

Clarke stood her ground, feeling a throb of desire. When Lexa was intense like this, she had no doubts it'd been her. But then there was that other side of her - distant, impenetrable - and the clear image in her mind shifted into a blur again.

"Why not? Does it upset you that it might be someone else?" Clarke asked, challenging.

"You wouldn't have told me if you weren’t certain."

"Maybe I wanted to get you off my back."

Lexa smiled slowly. "I think that's exactly where you want me."

Clarke's mouth dropped open. "Are you drunk?"

"Barely tipsy."

"Lexa. What are you doing?"

Lexa stopped short. "I'm sorry, I thought-"

Clarke was the one stepping closer this time. "No, I don't want an apology, I want an explanation. Clearly, you want… something from this. You talk to me; you flirt; you asked me out."

"I had a spa-"

"Come on. You don't even believe that."

Lexa swallowed. "Maybe I was wrong too. Maybe it wasn't you."

"It's one step forward, two steps back with you. I don't get it." Clarke set her bottle down. "Fine then, there is one way for me to be sure. We can settle this right here, right now."

Lexa's eyes flickered down to her lips before she caught herself. "There is?" She asked barely audibly.

"If you'll let me…"

Slowly, Clarke reached for her wrist. She felt Lexa tense and then relax, holding her eyes while Clarke undid the buttons of her sleeve. When they were loose, she pushed the sleeve up her arm. Clarke felt her heart beat faster the more skin she uncovered, gently pushing the fabric past Lexa's elbow. She tried not to think how soft and warm she felt beneath her fingertips, or if she was imagining the way Lexa's breathing stuttered a bit.

Lexa must've known what Clarke was trying to find out. Her eyes darkened when Clarke finally glanced at her arm. The bottom of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the bunched up sleeve, thick lines wrapping all around her bicep. Clarke's hand fell like she was burned, but a quick Lexa reached out to take it in hers.

"Lexa," Clarke gasped.

"Is that all you need to be sure?" Lexa asked quietly, face drawing closer.

Clarke found it hard to even think. "I-I could always find another way."

"Oh?"

Clarke's eyes closed when she felt Lexa's nose brush against hers, but the anticipation of a kiss remained just that. 

"Then make sure of it," Lexa ordered tenderly in her ear as their fingers laced together. "Close your eyes tonight and make sure it was me."

Clarke felt her skin become heated, the pulsing between her legs desperate for attention. "What if it is? What if it's not?"

Lexa stepped back, her eyes hooded like she was drunk. "I guess we can put my theory to the test."

"Your theory?"

"Whether we're inevitable or not."

"Lexa-"

Lexa let go of her hand and walked toward the exit. "Have a good night, Clarke."

* * *

When Clarke got home after Wells and Raven dropped her off, the stillness of everything was in stark contrast to the apartment full of life and laughter she had been in for hours. She didn't mind the quiet though - loved it, even, especially after long days at the café. But maybe there could be... a little more life to the place. 

By the time she got to bed, her body was buzzing. Clarke turned on her back and took a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Lexa had touched her. What she had husked in her ear. 

She hadn't… dared. Not even once. Getting herself off to the thought of Lexa had felt all sorts of wrong, especially knowing she'd have to face her at the café on a regular basis. But it was unbearable now. Clarke slid a hand beneath the hem of her sleep shorts and between her legs, moaning when she found herself wanting. It was no surprise - not after the rooftop. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, remembering her vision in fragments at first.

But her vision wasn't what she wanted. Her vision was just that - a fantasy. She wanted the reality of Lexa; the Lexa she'd felt against her tonight; the Lexa who'd made her dizzy with mere words.

So she imagined the rooftop instead: her, pressed against the parapet, and Lexa pressed against her. She imagined Lexa's hand going up her thigh, slowly pushing up the fabric of her dress. She could still smell her, could still feel her mouth by her neck. Lexa hooked her fingers in her underwear and slid it down, encouraged when she felt how wet Clarke was. Clarke had to imagine how Lexa would moan; if she would be vocal or not; how deep her fingers might reach. She touched herself slowly at first, head thrown back and mouth agape.

She didn't know if Lexa was a talker in bed, but it was easy to recall the shiver down her spine when she'd told her to think of her. This time her words were dirtier, spurring her on. Clarke's thighs widened as the ache inside her swelled and she added a second finger. 

"Lexa," she gasped, bringing her other hand to her breast to squeeze it roughly.

Her thoughts scattered all over: Lexa gripping her hips to turn her around, leaning down so that Clarke felt her weight on her back. Lexa taking her from behind, filling her with two and then three fingers. Overwhelmed, Clarke turned on her stomach and groaned in desperation, knees pressing into her mattress while she brought herself over the brink. She moaned loudly into her pillow, her orgasm blindsiding her. 

Clutching her sheets with one hand, Clarke's grip loosened slowly. She let out a small moan and felt her muscles loosen as her knees finally caved and she flopped onto her mattress. It had been far too long.

Turning on her back, Clarke kept her eyes closed as her breathing returned to normal. She wasn't too eager to open them to a lonely room, at least not for now. She moved her body to drag the sheets atop her and slipped her hands beneath her pillow, her stomach already in knots at the prospect of seeing Lexa tomorrow. 

But there was no going back now. Clarke was sure Lexa knew it too. No matter what this was between them, if two nights were all they'd need to work out the tension between them, denying it was not in the cards. At least not the ones Clarke held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story, I hope it can provide some entertainment. This also updates on my Tumblr before I put everything together here :)


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke usually went straight to the café, but the past few days she'd started taking a detour. Since the article in the Gazette, _Finn's Coffee & Bagels_ had taken a serious hit. Costial was a city with a deep-rooted pride for small businesses; mom-and-pop stores that had earned their success and customers' fidelity. Hard work and honesty were appreciated - shortcuts and lies were not. In just the one exposé, Finn's shop had lost half its patrons. Other outlets had jumped on the bandwagon and word had spread very quickly that anyone who bought his food or coffee might as well buy it in super stores for the same mass-produced quality at half the price. Finn had lost the support of his backers, but, more importantly, the Mayor had publicly condemned his son's business tactics.

To be perfectly honest, Clarke took some joy in the fall of Finn's plans. She had no doubt he would come up with another project very soon, perhaps in the theater sector, but at least his future in the food industry was bleak. Clarke knew gloating wasn't a good look on anyone, but she wasn't ready to climb down from her cloud just yet. She was sure something would soon come along to knock her down a few pegs, but these days she was feeling pretty confident.

The café had been busier, which Clarke and Wells planned to capitalize on with the right promotion. Today he'd surpassed himself with some mini marble cakes, one of which Clarke had shoved in her mouth as soon as he'd shown her. It was the perfect time to look more seriously into new hires, which Clarke had pushed back for far too long. Gaia and Harper had been noticeably excited by the news. Wells would vet any additional help in the kitchen, but she could tell it was a relief for him too. Their café was small, but the workload wasn't.

Clarke was drafting the job application at the end of the counter when she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up and closed the laptop with a mischievous smile, her heart doing its now familiar dance.

“Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

Lexa had her dark green raincoat on, hiding the plaid collar Clarke only associated with her now. It didn't seem like she'd ordered anything yet, bypassing the two people in line to find her.

“Have a good weekend?” Clarke asked.

“I did. Had a long chat with Semet actually.”

“And?”

Lexa smiled at Clarke's interest. “You’ll find my observations in the Gazette... eventually.”

"Nothing world-changing though, I take it?"

Lexa shrugged. "I think the world's seen most of the changes already."

"I'd knock on wood if I were you."

"Why? Wary of change?"

"No, but a break for… oh, the next five or ten years might be nice. I miss going about my day not wondering when aliens will come crashing."

Lexa laughed. "I assure you Semet's experience didn't give any indication we might soon meet our celestial neighbors."

Clarke glanced at Gaia and Harper, making sure they still had everything under control with the orders. 

“So um, I had an enlightening weekend too.”

“Oh?” Lexa asked, nonchalant.

“Yeah. I was thinking we could... discuss." Clarke bit her lip. "Maybe over dinner?”

Lexa's demeanor visibly shifted, not as casual as she'd been just a few seconds ago. “Is that really what you want?”

“Trust me, it’s become crystal clear what I want.”

Lexa seemed a cross between reticent and eager, like she was a wild animal in a cage and the door had just opened, but she didn’t quite know what might come from stepping outside- freedom or punishment.

“Clarke. Maybe we should... slow down.”

That was surprising. Clarke frowned. “Slow down from a glacial pace?”

“Just days ago you weren't even sure what to think of me."

“But then we- I thought the rooftop-" Clarke's cheeks felt warm. "I was under the impression we were on the same page."

Lexa looked away and Clarke felt her morning's happiness wither away. So much for staying on her cloud. She took in Lexa's demeanor: tense shoulders and the obvious inability to catch her eyes. Clarke truly didn’t understand her. It was frustrating - bordering on humiliating.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Clarke-"

"No, _no_. I don't know what game you think this is, but I'm not playing it."

Lexa seemed panicked. "It's not a game."

"Then what the fuck is it?"

Lexa looked toward the door as two people came in. Harper greeted them cheerily, waiting for their order. This was neither the place nor the time. She looked back at Clarke with pleading eyes, unable to offer an explanation.

Clarke shook her head, tired of the silence. "I told myself I'd stop sitting around waiting for things to happen, but I won't waste my time on someone who can't decide if I'm worth the chase. You clearly don't want any sort of relationship-"

“It’s not that simple,” Lexa argued.

“It _is_ that simple," Clarke gritted through her teeth, feeling both stupid and angry. She'd fallen for Lexa's charm again only to be disappointed once more. It felt like being doused in ice-cold water. "You either want someone or you don’t. So which is it?”

Lexa shook her head imperceptibly. There was something on the tip of her tongue, Clarke could tell, but she couldn't get it out.

Clarke glanced at the front door when it opened, a family of three walking in. She swallowed her disappointment at the turn in her morning before giving Lexa a hard stare.

"I have to get back to work."

"Clarke-"

“You need to figure out what you want,” Clarke snapped lowly. “Preferably without stringing people along while you do so.”

She took the family's orders with a smile, trying her hardest not to look toward the door as Lexa walked out with hunched shoulders.

* * *

Clarke posted the application on their website and several job boards in the afternoon. Resumes came fast, but Wells wanted to be a part of the process - usually less involved in the business side now that most things were squared away - so they'd set some time aside on Wednesday to reach out to applicants. Wells even planned to speak to a couple smaller theaters over the weekend to expand their partnership program.

And yet, the more good news and exciting plans came their way… the more frustrated Clarke became. Clearly she wasn't incompetent and had a firm handle on most aspects of her life, but for some reason her romantic aspirations had turned into a complete disaster. Was that really all that was in store for her? Had she somehow agreed to a bustling café in exchange for an empty home? Professional success so long as she slept alone? The exchange with Lexa had left a bitter taste in her mouth, like it'd been a cosmic reminder her happiness would always be short-lived.

She kept busy to avoid blowing the lid off her anger, forcing smiles while she chatted with patrons, made coffee, and watched the mini marble cakes disappear one by one. There were so many reasons to be elated, but not even Finn's fall from grace could lift up her mood anymore. He'd get on with his life eventually - people like him always did.

Maybe Clarke had made a mistake with Niylah. She was sweet and charming in her own way. They got along great and were certainly compatible in bed. What they had was easy and uncomplicated - Clarke had never given herself a headache trying to figure out Niylah and Niylah had never chased after her only to run the opposite way. She was straightforward and easygoing; eager to share every aspect of her life Clarke might be curious about. Niylah was a Costialite through and through: honest, hardworking, and kindhearted. She didn't make her heart race or take up her thoughts, but she didn't make her feel like a tightly coiled spring either.

Which meant Niylah deserved better than her. She deserved someone who looked at her like she was the only person in the room. She deserved someone who wanted everything with her. Clarke knew it wasn't their sexual relationship she missed, but rather that period of time when she hadn’t cared as much about her loneliness. She missed the whirlwind of planning and opening the café, the breezy attitude that had carried her through so many problems.

One vision had changed it all, and Clarke couldn't say it was for the better.

* * *

Wells was already gone before closing time, the kitchen immaculate and the next day's ingredients already prepared. Clarke didn't know how he did it - as if he had ten hours more in the day than the rest of them. The last patrons trickled out until eventually there was no one and Gaia turned over the OPEN sign on the front door.

"Go home; I'll clean up," Clarke told her, putting her hair up while Gaia grabbed the broom from the back room.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, give Poppy a good cuddle for me."

Gaia took her coat and purse. "You should come over soon. Give her those cuddles yourself."

Clarke smiled tiredly. "I do miss those big ears."

Gaia had the sweetest beagle she took on long hikes every weekend. She'd been born with one ear much longer than the other, but her lopsided anatomy only added to her personality.

"You haven’t even seen my new place yet," Gaia pointed out.

She'd moved into her mother's second building a few months back, the one on the same street as Lexa's, which only reminded Clarke how poorly she'd neglected all her relationships. 

"One day soon I'll pop in with wine and a pizza and you won't be able to get rid of me," she promised.

Gaia smiled brightly as she shouldered her purse. "Holding you to that, boss."

"See you tomorrow," Clarke said as Gaia walked out.

Clarke dimmed the main lights, wiped the last few tables and put the chairs up. She straightened out the coffee mugs and cleaned the front of the display case, giving herself a few more minutes before she headed home. The rush hour traffic outside was slowing down, giving Clarke some needed quiet.

To hear their small bell ring as the door opened was more than a surprise. Clarke turned around and stilled, watching as Lexa pulled down her raincoat’s hood and looked at her across the room. Her hair was out of its braids, damp and frizzy.

Clarke felt her anger roar back to life and stoke the fire inside her. Her heart pounded, furious that Lexa had had such an effect on her mood today. But she wouldn't back down. She wouldn't look away until it was Lexa who was forced to do so.

"We're closed," she told her coldly. It was so unlike her to be so curt.

Lexa didn't move, didn't even open her mouth to attempt a reply. It was infuriating.

"What do you want?" Clarke asked harshly, echoing her question from this morning.

Lexa's eyes flashed with similar ardor and her jaw locked. Then, in four strides, she was in front of Clarke and kissing her.

Clarke felt her hands on her waist first, and then the heat of her mouth against her own. She gasped, fisted her hands in Lexa's collar and then unraveled. She kissed Lexa back with the force of her anger, pulling and pulling until Lexa had her pressed against the display case and her body flush against hers. Her tongue felt like silk when it brushed the tip of hers, when it took a risk and was rewarded. Her hands felt like embers, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched her, first on her waist and then lower, on her hips, until they became more dangerous and cupped her ass while she pressed tight against her. Desperate and possessive.

Clarke moaned loudly, overwhelmed by the sudden force of her desire. She needed Lexa to take her, to be inside her, to fulfill her incessant need for release. She couldn't imagine a second away from Lexa's lips, a second where Lexa didn't touch her.

“God, I thought of this,” she moaned between kisses, eyes closing when she felt Lexa's mouth down her neck. She smelled like the rain; felt like a storm.

“I think about you all the time...” Lexa breathed in her ear, almost like she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

Clarke pulled back, cupping Lexa's face to make sure she wasn't imagining this again. After a beat, their next kiss turned hungrier. Clarke wanted nothing more than to pull Lexa in the back room. She didn’t need romance or a bed. She needed Lexa’s fire to consume her and for the world to stop existing for just a moment. At the same time she was content staying there, pinned between glass and Lexa's body while they kissed into the night.

But her imagination was kinder than reality, as a car suddenly honked at another outside, startling Lexa. She ripped away from their embrace with wide eyes, stumbling back like she was dizzy, the reality of the situation catching up to her.

Clarke could read it all on her face: the surprise at her own actions, the realization of where they were and what they had almost done so publicly. She could've cried when Lexa suddenly looked like a deer in headlights.

It was the same expression from this morning. Clarke shook her head at her, begging her not to run. But a part of her knew it was futile - Lexa had already made up her mind. Still, she had to try one last time.

"It's okay."

Lexa's bottom lip trembled. "I shouldn't have done that. I thought I could, but-" She pressed her hands against her eyes in frustration. "I'm so sorry, Clarke."

Clarke's chest felt heavy. "Please don't go. Help me understand."

"I won't bother you again."

"That's not what I want," Clarke replied in frustration, stepping closer.

Lexa shook her head. "You don't want me."

"Why not?"

To Clarke, Lexa seemed broken. Like something in her had finally shattered.

"You started looking at me after your vision," Lexa whispered. "We never spoke until… until you had it. And I never realized it was you in mine until I saw you drawing."

"What does it matter?"

"You don't know me," Lexa told her, voice cracking. "If you did, your vision would never become true. You'd want nothing to do with me."

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth," Clarke snapped.

Lexa stopped short, so Clarke took a deep breath and stepped even closer.

"Lexa. I don't need to be protected. You're right, we don't know much about each other. So let me learn and let me make my own decisions afterward. _Please._ You can't pretend there's nothing between us - you can't."

"The visions-"

"I don't give a fuck about the visions," Clarke told her stubbornly. "Maybe it opened my eyes, but it didn't create feelings out of thin air. That's not possible."

Lexa still looked skittish, ready to bolt at any moment. Clarke reached out for her hand, relieved when Lexa took it. It was so different than the rooftop, where Lexa had grabbed hers so confidently. How could a person be so torn?

"Maybe you were right this morning," Clarke said softly. "We've skipped a lot of steps. So let's start over."

Lexa finally caught her eyes. "I hurt people, Clarke. I don't mean to, but inevitably it's what I do."

Clarke knew that was all she'd get out of Lexa tonight. Hesitantly, she cupped her cheek.

"How about this? If the rain lets up, I take you to the river this weekend. We bring some drinks, some snacks, maybe some hiking shoes. You can tell me about the Mountain Men and I can tell you about the weird resumes I'll inevitably get this week."

Lexa let out a chuckle, which made Clarke smile hopefully. "Doesn't sound too scary, does it?"

"No. That sounds nice."

Clarke felt hopeful for the first time. "Just two people hanging out, getting to know each other."

"I'd like that." Lexa glanced at her mouth and swallowed. "I do want you, Clarke."

Clarke pressed her index against her lips. "I know. Nobody kisses a friend like that. But…"

"Fresh start?"

"Right.” Clarke still had to speak her mind: “Lexa, you can't keep running away without telling me why. I'm patient but I'm not a saint. I get angry too. I get scared."

Lexa nodded quietly, looking down at their hands before she glanced around the room.

"You were closing up."

"Yeah, did you not notice the chairs on the tables?"

"I was preoccupied. Can I help?"

"Lexa… I think maybe you should go home."

Lexa looked down. "I'm sorry, I must be giving you whiplash."

"Just a little," Clarke smiled.

"I'll see you this weekend?"

"I didn't mean you can't swing by for a quick hello and a cup of coffee. Or not coffee. Wells is baking up a storm, it'd be a pity if you missed it."

"That sounds nice."

Clarke accompanied her to the door, where she noticed the rain had become heavier. It was incessant these days, washing down the streets of Costial and keeping the coffee shops and movie theaters busy. Nothing unusual for the season. She grabbed one of the forgotten umbrellas in the stand by the entrance, giving it to Lexa.

"That's alright-"

"Take it. I don't you want coming in sneezing and sniffling this week."

"Thank you, Clarke." Slowly, hesitantly, Lexa kissed her cheek. "Goodnight."

After Lexa walked out in the rain and turned the corner with one last glance over her shoulder, Clarke stood in the dark for a moment. Then, she walked to the back room and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She clutched her heart, eyes closing as she let the last few minutes rush over her. Whiplash didn't even begin to cover it.

In the resounding silence, she tried processing what had just happened. She could still feel Lexa's kiss, everything she had imagined and more. But then Lexa had pulled away. It felt like she was two different people, one aching with desire like Clarke, the other convinced it would hurt them both. But why?

Clarke thought back to when she had first noticed Lexa. Courteous, quiet Lexa who had placed her order and sat near the weeping fig tree for hours while she worked. What could have driven her to Costial? It couldn't be the job opportunities - she didn't work in theater and the Gazette was no more reputable than their neighboring cities' newspapers. Family was the obvious guess, but then why not come earlier? What kind of life had she left behind that still haunted her today?

Clarke wasn't sure she'd be able to shut up this weekend, too wrapped up in Lexa's mystery to keep herself from asking questions. She wanted to know everything but knew she had to be cautious. Still, spending time together was a step forward. She was relieved Lexa hadn't run after all, but it would be difficult to forget the pain in her eyes. Despite the uncertainty of their relationship, if it could even be defined, Clarke had a feeling it would be worth fighting for.

* * *

Lexa walked in ten minutes after opening time the next day. Clarke had just rung up a coffee to go when she saw her, her raincoat unzipped and revealing her sweater and the collar of her shirt beneath it. Beige this time. Clarke liked beige. Then again, she couldn’t think of a shirt Lexa had worn that she hadn’t liked. One couldn't help but wonder how large Lexa’s wardrobe was. It had to be quite the collection.

Waiting for her turn, Lexa kept her eyes on the display case. When she finally stepped up to the counter, Clarke arched a playful brow.

"Good morning," Lexa said.

"Pretty good so far."

Lexa visibly tried to contain a smile. “You changed the display."

Clarke glanced at the display, remembering all too vividly how she’d been pressed up against it. Judging by the way Lexa looked at her, she remembered it too.

“It's honey cake and croissants today - still warm,” Clarke replied, noticing just then that Lexa was fiddling with the strap of her satchel.

It was something Clarke had recently noticed about Lexa. She appeared confident, sometimes even stony-faced, but there were subtle signs showing the contrary. She was a master at hiding her nerves, but Clarke was starting to pick up on how she did it.

"Oh I meant to tell you - Wells loved Gus' honey. He was pretty die hard about his old brand but he's interested in switching."

"He did?" Lexa seemed very proud. "I'll have to let Gus know. And maybe try a slice of the cake then."

“For here?” Clarke asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yes. Please.”

“No drink?”

Lexa took out her wallet. “Coffee is fine.”

Clarke leaned closer. “Lexa, you don’t need to force yourself. You don’t like it. It’s fine - I don’t take offense.”

“I know. I just feel like a fraud staying here if I don't. Like wearing sneakers on an ice rink."

Clarke chuckled. “Well, speaking of ice, let me make you a chilled one. I'll go easy on the actual coffee part."

“You don’t have to go to the trouble-"

"It’s on the menu. You know that, right?”

Lexa looked up, as if noticing the menu above the coffee machines for the first time. It wasn't a long selection but, sure enough, there was an ice coffee and tea option.

“I hadn’t..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fuck.”

Clarke fully laughed then, her voice still a bit raspy from the early morning. "God, just go grab a seat. I’ll be right up with your order.”

Lexa left a crisp bill in the tip jar as she always did. She sat at her usual seat and took out her laptop and notepad. After she'd skimmed through some of her recent notes, Clarke came over with her slice of cake and iced coffee.

"Thank you."

To Lexa's evident surprise, Clarke took the seat opposite hers and propped her chin on her hand.

"I need to be sure you like it. No more grimacing in my café."

Lexa sighed bashfully. She picked up the cup and took her first sip of the chilled drink. After licking her lips and pausing for effect, she hummed.

"Hats off to the barista. This is really good, Clarke."

"Well of course it's good!" Clarke beamed, pleased with herself. "Now your funny faces can stop giving us a bad rep."

"Hardly doubt the press picked up on my expressions."

"You never know who's paying attention."

Lexa looked at her and smiled. "You?"

Clarke's cheeks felt warm. She glanced down. "That's one person."

Whatever that meant for them, Clarke didn't know. It was a strange place to be in. To know the woman sitting in front of her was responsible for the best kiss she'd had in recent memory, if not her entire life. She was aching to talk about it, but her worry Lexa would bolt was stronger.

Lexa cleared her throat and looked around. There was only a couple and an older man seated for now, but then again the sun wasn't even out.

"Not too busy yet?" She asked.

Clarke shook her head. "I give it thirty minutes. College classes and rush hour starting."

"Have you had more customers recently?"

"Definitely. I'm still not sure if it's all due to Finn's fall from grace, but I'm not complaining."

"You know what made me wonder?" Lexa asked. "He knew Echo and I were from the Gazette. He knew she and I went to his shops to write about him, but somehow he couldn't fathom it would be for anything other than praise. He wronged everyone on his staff and lied his way into smaller businesses believing it was justified. Now he's looking into suing for defamation. Can you imagine the ego?"

"Sounds like Finn Collins."

Lexa noticed a change in Clarke's expression. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all. Just bad history. Finn had me believing a lot of things too. It might be the one thing he's actually good at."

"I see."

Clarke bit her lip, unsure where to go from there. It seemed like Lexa was thinking the same.

"Are we still…" Lexa lowered her voice. "Is this weekend still happening?"

Clarke's heart leapt. "If you want it to."

"I do."

Clarke forgot all about Finn Collins, her bitterness replaced by sudden excitement. "Give me your phone."

Lexa took it out and watched as Clarke typed her number in. She then grabbed her own phone and sent Lexa a message:

_Coffeemaker_   
**Nice flannel today, I'd guessed blue**

"I don't have a lot of blue," Lexa chuckled, then frowned. "Bit of a reductive name. I'd definitely give you something better."

Clarke shrugged. "That's between you and your phone. Anyway, I'll send you the details. I checked the weather and there's just a small chance of rain, so we should be good. We can do the River to Nowhere hike."

"Never heard of it."

"I figured. It's kind of a local secret. The view on Costial and the mountains is amazing though."

At Lexa's silence, Clarke felt a pang of worry. "This is still good, right?"

Lexa looked up. "Yes. Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

Clarke nodded, still not entirely convinced. But at least Lexa had come back. She was here, sitting where she belonged. Clarke stood up at the ding of the bell, knowing she didn't have much time before the morning rush.

"I hope you enjoy the cake."

"Thank you, Clarke."

* * *

Lexa came into the café every day. She apologized that she couldn’t stay too long before going to work, but she still came every day. Mostly in the morning, but once in the afternoon. Clarke saw the slight, quick pout on her face when she noticed her seat was occupied that day, and practically heard her sigh when she eventually found a tight spot on the other side of the counter.

"I thought we said no funny faces," Clarke told her in passing, too busy to stop but still yearning for interaction.

Lexa looked up, realizing then how close to Clarke this new seat was, though also much noisier and not conducive to writing. "My apologies," she said, just loud enough for Clarke to hear.

Clarke smiled to herself. That was mostly how they communicated that week, pleasantries here and there, asking how work was going, how Lexa's articles were progressing, if Clarke and Wells were going to start interviews soon. It was as casual as could be, but beneath the simple nature of their brief conversations was something neither of them could deny.

Desire. The kind that had Clarke panting into her pillow at night while she touched herself. The kind that turned every look and every touch into the most excruciatingly good form of foreplay Clarke had experienced.

It was in the way their fingers brushed together when Clarke gave Lexa her drink and pastry. The way Clarke caught Lexa looking her way, or perhaps Lexa caught Clarke. In those moments, Clarke felt the same thrill she'd felt when Lexa had entered the café after closing time.

But they had yet to actually talk about it, which made Clarke both impatient and anxious for the weekend.

Lexa could run or she could stay. It was something Clarke was keenly aware of, which was why she'd promised herself to be as honest as could be. The way they'd approached things before hadn't worked. Things had been left unsaid on various occasions, piling up until they became a tangled mess. That couldn't happen again. Clarke knew it and she had no reason to doubt Lexa knew it too.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her apron. Clarke finished making an order for a pick-up before reading it:

_Lexa_   
**I'm off to work (yes I do have a real office despite appearances), but thank you for saving a croissant for me**

Clarke glanced toward the fig tree, where she saw the empty table.

_Clarke_   
**Ha, I was starting to think you'd quit. You're welcome**

_Lexa_   
**I'll see you tomorrow?**

_Clarke_   
**Yep, pick you up at 11am. Wear good walking shoes**

_Lexa_   
**Stilettos it is. Have a good rest of the day :)**

Clarke chuckled, liking this lighter side of Lexa. Hopefully - and Clarke's hope had blossomed these days - it was a facet of Lexa she'd get to see more of.

* * *

Lexa didn't wear the stilettos, though Clarke wouldn't have been too upset if she did. She had a hunch Lexa had quite the fashion sense beyond her professional attire. Not that the shirts, blazers and tight pants didn't work for Clarke. Today it was her dark green knitted hat that had Clarke melting a little.

She drove through sleepy Costial with Lexa in the passenger seat, something she would have never imagined happening just a week ago. Clarke talked about some of the resumes she'd read with Wells over the week. One in particular made Lexa laugh out loud.

"Eating is a commendable skill, Clarke."

"It was the only word in the skills section. Just _eating_. What do I even do with that?"

"Well, hopefully they figure out they're better off being your customer than your employee."

"I just feel bad for Wells, he takes on so much already."

"No one stood out?"

"One woman did, but she'd be out of our budget. Honestly Wells doesn't even care about fancy certificates, just passion and impeccable hygiene."

"Hm."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

Clarke spotted the sign on the road that pointed them to the small parking area. It was a ten minute walk from the actual mountain trail, which itself was hard to find for anyone unfamiliar with it. Clarke hadn't been here in months, but it was perfect timing. The weather was kind and there wasn't a grey cloud in sight.

She parked the car and popped the trunk open.

"Are you ready?"

Lexa nodded. "Let's go."

They stored their water and food in one backpack that Lexa insisted on carrying, as the other one felt lighter than air. The trail was hidden behind a particularly spruce, but once they were on it, there was a clear grassy path snaking through the sprawling forest. In a few weeks, everything would be covered in snow. For now, it was a lovely clash of browns and greens, with shrubs and moss at the foot of pine and hardwood trees. 

"You know, I tried looking up this trail in the Gazette's search engine," Lexa said. "Not even one link. When you said it's a local secret, I didn't think you meant _top secret_."

Clarke smiled cheekily. "One thing you have to know about Costialites: we love tourists in our theaters and shops, not our nature."

"Any other hidden spots I might discover?"

Clarke stepped over a fallen tree, dead and yet full of life, with lichen and mushrooms covering the sides while insects skittered inside.

"Nu-uh. The inquisitive journalist's cap comes off. You can pick it up on the way back."

She heard Lexa's small laugh behind her. "If you say so."

They walked without speaking for a while, slowly going up as they appreciated the fresh air, bird chirps, and the novelty of doing something together for the first time. Clarke had been on this path with friends before; had even shown her mother - but she'd never come here with a potentially romantic partner. It was fun with friends, but there was a more intimate quality to it with Lexa. After days of only seeing each other surrounded by other people, it was a welcome change.

But Clarke remembered her earlier promise to herself.

"Lexa… I need to get something off my chest."

Lexa glanced at her, understanding this wouldn't be shoptalk.

"The push and pull between us…" Clarke started, fighting her nerves. "It really confused me."

"I know."

"It's just that, from my point of view, you sat in the café every week for six months but you were still a mystery. Then suddenly we were talking and… the mixed signals threw me off." Clarke paused, unsure how to word the next part delicately. "You run when things get too close, but then you come back and I think - this is it, she's taking a step forward. But it's not." Clarke stopped to look at her. "What I'm trying to say is I can't do that again. I don't need a label for whatever this is, but I do need to know we're on the same page. I'm sorry if this is brusque-"

"No, that's fair," Lexa interrupted. "Thank you for telling me. I want to be on the same page too."

Clarke waited for more, but Lexa turned her head toward the source of a trickling sound. "Is that the river?"

Clarke swallowed back her disappointment. "Yeah. Come on, we can follow it upstream."

* * *

If what Clarke had said had affected Lexa, she certainly didn't show it. Instead, Lexa started asking questions like she had at the café, interested in knowing about Clarke's life without divulging too much about hers in response. Clarke had to call her out on it:

"I thought you'd agreed to leave the journalist cap behind."

Lexa seemed surprised. "I can't ask about your job?"

"Can I ask about yours?"

Lexa kept her eyes on the rocky stream bed at their right, where the water flowed slowly down the slope.

"Sure."

"Did you always want to be a journalist?"

"No."

Clarke waited, then sighed. "A little more?"

Lexa slid her hand beneath the straps of the backpack. She was quiet for a while, then cleared her throat. "My grandmother raised me, but after she passed away when I was seventeen I had to grow up very quickly. I started working in a motel to save for college. Met a lot of people left behind by laws, so I had a fantasy of going into politics. Be a part of change."

Clarke startled a bit at the amount of information Lexa had unloaded in the space of a few seconds.

"I didn't know you were… I hadn't realized-" she stuttered. 

"Don't worry, I'm not a traumatized orphan, Clarke," Lexa said with a self-deprecating smile. "Anyway, it all worked out. Even got a scholarship."

"Still. That must've been hard."

Lexa nodded in acknowledgment. "When I got into college, it was like an all you can eat buffet. Politics didn't feel exciting anymore. But my counselor told me change could come from anywhere."

"So you took up writing?"

Lexa's expression suddenly changed, like she was in pain. "No, not right away."

Clarke left it at that, not wanting to push. A few minutes later, she stopped on the path and took Lexa's arm.

"Come on."

She guided her behind a pine and past a couple shrubs, where finally they reached the flat rock that overlooked Costial and its surrounding mountains. Lexa took off her backpack, stopping just a few feet from the edge.

"Jesus, Clarke."

"I know."

They took in the view for a few minutes, until Clarke laid out the quilt she'd put in her own bag. She sat down and looked up at Lexa, noticing just then there were tears in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" She worriedly asked.

"Just give me… I need a minute."

Clarke waited patiently, knowing they had both reached a point of change. She would stay here the entire night if Lexa needed it.

Lexa sat down next to her. "I never wanted to confuse you," she finally said, her voice full of regret. "It's just that I didn't expect you."

Clarke caught her eyes, hoping Lexa wouldn't look away. She didn't.

"But you took the first step."

"I was… hoping I was ready." Lexa swallowed hard. "I keep to myself and I don't get close, because… because the only three people I chose to love passed away."

Clarke froze, hardly even blinking as she absorbed Lexa's words.

"First there was Luna, my best friend since I learned how to walk. We did everything together for years. Had our best and our worst ideas together. She drowned during a family vacation." Lexa's fingers dug into a patch of grass by the quilt. "Then there was Ontari, in junior year. She was my first… everything. Most of the time she was angry because her mom was a drunk, but she was kind with me." Lexa's jaw clenched. "She was stabbed by some lunatic for seventeen dollars and her bracelet."

If Lexa had managed to keep her voice from breaking before, her efforts were in vain this time.

"And then Anya," she said tearfully.

Clarke sat closer.

"Hey, you don't have to-"

"No," Lexa abruptly said. "I want to. I _need to_." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Anya was my sister - how I imagined a sister would be anyway. She took me under her wing in undergrad. Pushed me toward journalism when I hesitated and kept me from making bad decisions out of anger. Without her, where I am today would only be a dream." Lexa's voice steadied then as she contemplated the three blades of grass in her hand. "Four years ago Anya lost her fight against breast cancer. Her last words to me were, _I fought like hell, didn't I?_ "

Lexa let go of the grass. "You were right that night at the bar. In a way I do use people for their stories. I eat up their words and I spit them back out because my own stories - they're no good. The good ones are all tainted. I don't talk about my past because my memories only have ghosts in them. And nothing hurts more than realizing the only people who knew you are gone."

Clarke felt stricken, overwhelmed with sadness for the woman baring her soul in front of her. She couldn't imagine losing a best friend, let alone three. She couldn't imagine having so many of her memories tarnished by sudden, senseless death. Losing Wells would be like losing a piece of her heart. He knew her fears just as well as her dreams. He knew how to make her laugh and how to get her to stop crying. If he disappeared from her life, Clarke could see how that would feel like losing a part of herself. Memories shared would be wrecked by grief.

"When the visions happened," Lexa continued, "suddenly it was like hope was on everyone's lips. Lincoln was the first to tell me his. I was on the opposite coast, living life like a robot, when my estranged cousin calls to tell me he's seen us dance together at his wedding." Lexa smiled at the memory. "I thought he was losing his mind - couldn't even remember him honestly. But then more reports came in. And he kept calling, kept talking to me about Costial, this beautiful city he'd always wished my grandma and I visited. Apparently she used to send him postcards every year. For her sake, I agreed. I reconnected with Lincoln and… I fell in love with Costial."

Clarke knew how easy that was. It hadn't taken her long to know she'd build on her dreams here. After college, leaving had never even been in question.

"I wanted to do something to honor it," Lexa said as she stared at the skyline. "I know there are already thousands of pieces on visions out there, and I know there'll be thousands more after mine, but they won't be on this place. They won't be about Indra Keene reconnecting with her brother thanks to her vision of them having dinner. They won't be about Jonathan Murphy working hard to get his GED after seeing himself graduate college. I know I haven’t been here long, but this place is the first that's felt like home. I thought it deserved to be written about."

Lexa looked at Clarke. "And you… I guess I wanted to know what hope looked like for you. You're at the café every day, always smiling at people, even the rude ones. You seem so happy, so eager to put in the work to make your dream a reality. I couldn't help but wonder what else you might dream about. But really I just transcribe what I hear. I'm no more than a typist here."

"You sell yourself short."

Lexa shook her head. "I don't mind being the one listening. I like how I fit in Costial. When I got here - when I was driving with the trunk of my car crammed with my stuff, I passed the welcome sign and I… I just felt so relieved. Like I could finally breathe. Move forward."

"And you did."

Lexa nodded. "When I found out the Gazette was hiring it all clicked into place. But the pain crept back eventually. Change isn't… Well, old habits die hard and all that."

"But you've already brought so much good here. Look at your article on the Mountain Men."

Lexa shrugged. "Hermit solidarity."

Clarke chuckled softly. "You're not a hermit, Lexa. You clearly have a talent with people… It's not just all because you listen. But you also need to be kind to yourself. Does Lincoln know?"

"Lincoln understands more than he lets on I think. He's been the best support I could ask for, but it's different with family. _You_ … you made me want to hope again."

"You can."

"Anya said the same."

Clarke waited a beat. "Lexa… do you think you're cursed or something?"

Lexa lied back on the quilt with her hands on her stomach. "It's not like that. Clearly there are powerful unknowns out there, but I don't believe a witch placed a curse on me, no. What I do believe is that some people attract bad energy. That no matter how hard you try, your place in the world is destructive."

"No," Clarke breathed out, horrified. "I don't believe that one second."

"But wouldn't you wonder - in my position? Wouldn't you try to put your theory to the test?"

"So you're just going to be alone for the rest of your life? That's your big experiment?"

Lexa shrugged. "I have everything I need - a good job, good apartment. It's not like I don't know anyone. Lincoln's practically introduced me to half the town. I know how to be sociable. I know how to work a room. I don't need anything more."

"People talk a whole lot about what they need in this town," Clarke sighed. "But what do you want?"

Lexa swallowed thickly as she looked up at her. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Lexa reached for her hand, hesitant at first, just fingers brushing. "Your vision... if that's what _you_ wanted from me, I could give you that. I could be that person."

Clarke knew what Lexa was offering - wish fulfillment. Sex without the next morning breakfast. Sex without intimacy. Clarke had gone down that road before. She was good at it.

"No." She said the word before she even thought it. No, she couldn't do it. She couldn't spend a night with this woman and watch her slip out into the night. She couldn't pretend it hadn't happened the next morning; that they could go back to normal. There was no normal with Lexa - there never had been. "I want _all of you_ , Lexa. If you're not ready for that, and I understand it, then we can be friends. But you need to stop looking at me like you do because otherwise I'll..." Clarke shook her head. "I won't even be able to be that. I did the whole casual thing and frankly I'm over it."

Lexa nodded silently, then retracted her hand. Her brow furrowed in thought, but she didn't add anything.

Clarke lied down next to her and sighed. "I think you're stronger than you know and I think your vision proved it. Your future doesn't have to be some kind of condemnation to solitude."

"And what if I hurt you?"

"My father used to say pain is a part of relationships, even the best ones. It doesn't mean we stop fighting for them."

"I don't mean hurt you by forgetting to clean the oven, Clarke."

"That would definitely be a blow." Clarke turned on her side, taking in Lexa's jawline and the fading tear tracks on her cheek. "But I don't believe in curses or bad energy. I believe in people and people acting on their choices. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Lexa turned to face her as well. She brushed a finger down Clarke's temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You're very stubborn, Clarke Griffin."

Clarke smiled. "You have no idea."

* * *

They packed up quietly after snacking on some pieces of honey cake, the emotional toll weighing heavily on both of them. Clarke knew Lexa needed the space, but she'd said her piece and it had felt right. The ball was in Lexa's court.

They went down the same path they'd taken, zigzagging with the river. Clarke thought to bring up Lexa's article, but felt a strong drop crash on the top of her head and froze.

"Oh no."

Lexa frowned. "Did you forget something?"

"This is your first autumn here, right?"

"Yes?" Lexa replied hesitantly.

"Hm. Well, there's this thing called the Costial shower. Usually in the winter, but sometimes after a long week of rain it creeps up on you. Doesn't last longer than a few minutes, but yeah."

Lexa looked up. "I don't feel anything."

As soon as she said it, a downpour started. Lexa flinched at the sudden wet cold, the weight of the rain making the tip of her green hat sag.

"Lovely," she deadpanned.

"Run."

"What?"

Clarke bolted like a bat out of hell.

"Clarke!"

Before she even knew it, she started laughing as Lexa called her name behind her. Luckily the trail was more grass than mud, not yet too slippery. Lexa caught up to her.

"I'm pretty sure you can't outrun rain," she yelled before laughing herself.

Clarke hadn't felt like this in a long time; adrenaline pumping through her as she laughed like a kid on the playground. She spotted what she'd been running toward just a few feet away.

"No, but you can reach the canopy in time!"

She slowed to a stop and then pointed up. Lexa realized the rain didn't reach them anymore, though they could still hear its angry fall. They were sheltered by the dense crowns of the trees, high and thick above them.

Clarke bent down with her hands on her knees, her laugh fading. "Ah, fuck. Haven't run like that since college."

Lexa pressed her back against a tree, catching her breath as she arched her brow at Clarke. A few drops still dripped down her face, but their clothes weren’t too wet.

"What?" Clarke asked. "It was finals week and I wanted tacos before closing time."

"I know I left my journalist cap out there, but you could've mentioned this."

"I really didn't think this would happen."

A slow smile spread on Lexa's face. Clarke felt her heart race, this time not from running.

"Lexa."

"Yes?"

"I told you not to look at me like that."

"Only if I wasn't sure."

Clarke held her breath, not knowing what to say for once. Lexa crossed the path and stopped in front of her.

"I've… been running my whole life. Moving from place to place thinking it would be easier each time. Running's never made me happy." Lexa exhaled deeply, nervous but not hesitant. She let out a small laugh. "Until now."

Clarke pulled on the straps of Lexa's backpack and kissed her. She felt Lexa cup the back of her neck and moaned, this kiss nothing like the one at the café and yet just as talented at making her legs weak. This was slow, purposeful, the full meaning of it hitting Clarke like a force. Lexa nipped on her bottom lip.

"I want all of you too," she said in a low voice, as if they weren't already alone in a forest. "I can't promise I won't mess up, but I want to try."

"Okay," Clarke stuttered in response, dangerously affected by Lexa rubbing circles on the back of her neck.

"Is slow okay?" Lexa asked.

"Slow is good. Slow is perfect."

"Thank you, Clarke. For being stubborn."

"My pleasure."

* * *

On the drive back, Clarke found it hard to stop smiling. Their shoes occasionally squeaked, but the discomfort was worth the memory that preceded it. Lexa took off her hat and started braiding her damp hair, humming along with the music Clarke had turned on. Lexa insisted Clarke drive home and didn't need to drop her off, as the view on Costial had made her want to walk in its streets for a bit. Clarke desperately needed a hot shower, so didn't protest too long. 

She understood the reasoning better when Lexa followed her to her apartment door. 

"I see how it is," Clarke grinned.

"A proper first date always ends on the stoop. That's what my grandmother used to say."

Clarke leaned back against the door. "First date, huh?"

Lexa stepped closer. "Slow," she murmured.

"Absolutely."

Lexa pressed a kiss against her neck. When Clarke thought she'd pull away, Lexa instead pressed closer and started sucking slowly. Clarke's mouth parted open and she closed her eyes, dropping her keys when she felt Lexa's hands on her waist. Her arm went around Lexa's neck, breathing harder when Lexa's tongue licked over her pulse, soft and tender and yet more sensual than Clarke had felt in a long time.

Lexa pulled back with a satisfied smile. "I want to take you on another date."

"You better," Clarke rasped.

"Hmm. I'll text you."

"Are you sure you don't want a towel or something?"

"If I stay one minute longer I don't think I'll leave, Clarke."

Clarke's eyes darkened. "Fuck. Okay. Get out of here."

Lexa had the gall to smirk before she turned around, walking down the hall like she was worth a million bucks. Well, Clarke thought, she could do slow too. She could wind up Lexa Woods very, very slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr @ aphrodites-law :)


	4. Chapter 4

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn’t expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Hi, Gustus. How are you?”

“Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?”

Clarke blinked in surprise. “Not at all.”

Gustus set the bag on the counter. “I don’t have much of an education and I don’t know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family’s apiary since my childhood.”

He pulled out several containers. “I’ve brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can.”

“You're… applying to work here?”

Gustus nodded. “I’d like to help in the kitchen.”

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke’s mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.

“Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can’t afford to negotiate on salary for now.”

“Money doesn’t matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food.”

“What about your apiary?”

“A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…” His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

“People?” Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. “But not so much that I would leave the kitchen.”

Clarke chuckled. “I see why Lexa likes you.”

“She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case.”

“No, I don’t suppose she would.”

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

“I won’t keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper.”

“Wells will have the final word, but he’s badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor.”

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

“Have a good day, Clarke.”

“You too. And thanks for the treats!”

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa’s table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn’t been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Hi, you.”

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. “Hello.”

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. “Oh I get a hello today. Very formal.”

“Is hello formal now?”

“With that tone and those glasses? Yes.”

Lexa took off her reading glasses. “Am I being kicked out?”

“Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours.”

Lexa’s eyes fell to her lips- Clarke’s knowing grin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Mm probably not.”

Lexa closed her laptop. “So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm.”

Clarke sat up. “I’m excited. Though Wells has already warned me he’ll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers.”

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln’s play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

“I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after,” Lexa suggested. “Try some of the food trucks?”

“A woman after my own heart.”

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke’s on the table. “I figured I’d keep the upscale restaurant for our third date.”

“Oh there’ll be a third date?”

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. “I would hope so.”

“Well I don’t know, I’ll have to see if you have game.”

“I thought you’d gotten a preview already.” Lexa’s fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. “Not that kind of game.”

“What kind, Clarke?” Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke’s hand.

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa’s hand. “Nu-uh. I’m not falling for that again.”

“What’s that?”

“That- look. And your voice. You know what.”

Lexa let out a small laugh. “I really don’t.”

“It’s like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I’m not falling for it. I see you.”

“Alright, I’ll just be broody and quiet then.” Lexa cleared her throat, amused. “Did Gus stop by today?”

Clarke brightened. “Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie.”

“I’m glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I’d never heard him so nervous.”

“I didn’t even know he baked.”

“Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food.”

“How did you meet him anyway?”

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. “When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…”

“And you charmed your way into his life,” Clarke guessed in a fond tone. She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular occurrence, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. “I’m glad you did. I think he’d fit right in.”

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She’d settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn’t mean she couldn’t have her fun.

“Wow. Um. Hi,” Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke’s lips.

“Now I get a hi,” Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she’d brought on the way. “For you.”

“Oh they’re beautiful,” Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. “Thank you,” Lexa murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. “This is new.”

“You don’t like it?” Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

“I didn’t say that,” Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later when she realized what game Clarke was playing. She’d asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

“Please, come in.”

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn’t mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn’t have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world.

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. “They’re lovely,” she reiterated.

“If I’d known you were so into plants I would’ve gotten a succulent or something.”

Lexa looked around. “Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she’s relieved this place isn’t a fire hazard anymore.”

“Gaia said you’re her favorite tenant.”

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn’t further comment. She glanced at Clarke’s neckline before clearing her throat.

“Are you ready?”

Clarke nodded. “Very.”

Lexa stepped closer. “You know… I sort of imagined this going differently.”

“Oh?” Clarke asked, rooted in place.

“I figured after we’d kissed things would become easier,” Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

“You imagined us kissing?”

“Yes,” Lexa answered honestly. “But I told you that before.”

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt her desire pulse between her legs. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa’s shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

“It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I,” Clarke noted.

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa’s full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke’s senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn’t the small hello or goodbye kisses they’d exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

“Are you sure this play is good?” She asked, slightly dazed.

Lexa shook her head, chasing her lips once more. “It’s horrible. Mediocre. Let’s bail and stay in.”

Clarke let out a laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

“If only.”

* * *

The play wasn’t horrible by any stretch of the imagination. It was the most fun Clarke had had in a long time. She laughed so hard at parts that tears sprung to her eyes and her cheeks started to hurt by the end of it. The 1920s décor and costumes were stunning, the performances captivating, and the story the perfect balance between humor and social commentary. Even Lexa, who already knew the jokes and twists, still laughed loudly.

Clarke took as much joy from the sound as she did the play. When the curtain fell for the last time and the lights fully came on, she looked over at Lexa and found herself captivated. Lexa was still clapping for her cousin’s success, her face beaming with pride, and Clarke couldn’t really explain why it made her adore this woman so much more.

“Are you hungry?” Lexa asked her.

Clarke nodded mutely, unsure what to do with the intensity of her feelings. She let Lexa take her hand and lead her out of the theater, where the crowd spilled out of the great glass doors.

Cocoa Street was the longest street in Costial, cutting through the city in a curving fashion. Clarke’s favorite part was the food trucks; rows of them on both sides with their own specialties and flair. You could very well order duck à l'orange with mashed pumpkin at one truck and a burger with fries at the next one. The Italian ice cream truck was between the rival crab cake trucks and the Noodle Brothers were right next to the Pizza Sisters. There were lines wherever you went, sometimes even street performers to soften the blow of the waiting time. It was absurd and it was wonderful.

They ate Chicago-style hot dogs and curly fries, slowly walking down the street as they laughed about the play. Lincoln had relied on alternate history to weave the visions into his tale, using them for comedic effect in the more dramatic beats. A secondary character had one in the middle of a monologue, suddenly passing out while a crowd rushed over to him. The visions were reenacted with tricks of light and masked characters, reminiscent of interpretive dances.

“Okay, I have to ask,” Clarke brought up while they meandered down the street. “The castle on the hill - that’s the Polis Hotel, right?”

Lexa nodded. “Lincoln has a complicated relationship with his heritage, to say the least. He’s keenly aware growing up in a luxury hotel was a great privilege, but it also messed with his head. He basically shared a home with thousands of strangers for eighteen years.”

“I’d always admired Polis from afar, but I can’t imagine growing up there. Don’t get me wrong, that was one hell of a party, but-”

“It’s not a place for a kid,” Lexa finished, in agreement.

Clarke ate the last bite of her chocolate waffle and threw the paper in the trash. “You must be pretty familiar with it.”

Lexa glanced at her and smiled. "The cat and I go back.”

“Right. That night was a bit intense, even for you.”

Lexa laughed, looking away with a hum. “You know, you make me sound quite strange.”

Clarke bumped her shoulder. “You pinned me against the staircase - you are strange.”

“I didn't… pin you,” Lexa replied with a huff. “I was drunk, high off an excellent game of poker… and I saw you. And I needed to be close to you.”

Clarke stopped them in the street, grateful they’d left the busy part. “And the Gazette?”

“What about it?”

“You offered me a side job. Just like that.”

“Oh,” Lexa remembered. “I genuinely thought you’d be good at it. Still do. Your style would be perfect.”

That was surprising, but Clarke wasn’t convinced. “It wasn’t because of your vision?”

“It was a way to talk to you, yes, but I meant it. I know the visions were… well, the reason for this, that they nudged us together, but I’d noticed you drawing before.”

They walked a bit further before Clarke took a small breath. “I, uh, may have looked at the pages in older prints.”

Lexa glanced at her. “And?”

“It could be fun. I’m just not sure-” Clarke scrunched her nose. “I’m so rusty. Art is what I got into college for, but then I took up business classes and… I don’t know, it felt so much easier. Don’t get me wrong, managing the café kicks my ass every day, but I like the challenges. With drawings, paintings, whatever… it feels like putting your heart on the line each time. And nine times out of ten, your heart ends up getting trampled.”

Lexa took her hand to stop her. “I would never suggest you do something that makes you uncomfortable. If it’s truly just a hobby to you, a way to pass the time, you should keep it that way.”

It wasn’t like Clarke hadn’t considered it. Drawing, sketching; it came as naturally as breathing. She’d done it since she could hold a pencil and she still did it whenever the world became too loud. It was an escape; a different way of thinking. Her own little world. Illustrating short stories could be a welcome breath of fresh air. A way for her brain to snap away from bills, calls, deliveries, and the hundreds of post-its in her tiny office.

“And for the record,” Lexa added as she stepped closer, her voice impossibly soft, “I would very much stand in the way of whoever or whatever would try to trample you.”

Clarke grinned, very much aware that, not so long ago, these were not words she could have ever imagined Lexa telling her.

* * *

As she had the last time, Lexa insisted that she walk Clarke back to her apartment. After a night full of laughs, great food, and Lexa’s hand in hers, Clarke still didn’t have her fill and so didn’t tease Lexa too much for also wanting to enjoy every last second. When they made it to her door, Clarke turned around and leaned against it. Tonight couldn’t end here.

“By the way, you were wrong earlier. My vision isn’t the reason for this.” She waited a beat before playing her last hand: “It’s not the vision I thought about that night after the rooftop.”

Lexa’s mouth parted open and she glanced at Clarke’s lips.

“I was going to,” Clarke continued, “but it didn’t hold a candle to how you made me feel when you grabbed my hand.”

Lexa swallowed as Clarke reached for her jacket to tug her closer. “How did I make you feel?”

Clarke pulled her in until their foreheads touched. “Warm. Dizzy.”

“Dizzy on a rooftop? That’s a safety hazard.”

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you trying to make me laugh?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

They broke into laughter anyway. Lexa leaned in to kiss her, only to stop just as their lips brushed.

“You never told me about your vision,” Lexa pointed out. “Not… not exactly.”

Clarke smiled, smug. “Oh you want details, hm?”

“I’m a journalist. A thorough account would be nice, yes.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at her before crushing their lips together, unbelievably pleased when Lexa moaned breathily and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Shut up, journo,” Clarke husked between kisses.

Lexa kissed her with little restraint then, moving until Clarke was pressed against the door. Each one of Lexa’s kisses felt like something special; like finally she’d shed her old fears. Clarke didn’t even want to think about not being close to Lexa right now. The night couldn’t end - not like this. She pulled back and gazed at Lexa, trying to catch her breath.

This close, Clarke could commit to memory every detail of her face. She’d always thought she got a good look at Lexa at the café, even with the counter between them, but it was nothing compared to this. Lexa’s lips were full and at their most tempting when slightly parted, betraying her own desire. Her eyes were hooded now, longing, and Clarke had little doubt hers reflected the same want. She threw caution to the wind:

“Come inside?”

Lexa hesitated, visibly torn.

“We don’t have to do anything. I have a nice wine we can try. Some of Gus’s tartlets left over. We can even sit with the box between us. I just… I don’t want tonight to be over yet.”

* * *

It was not what she’d had in mind. She swore it. Nevertheless, when Clarke found herself straddling Lexa on her living room couch with the box of tartlets discarded on the floor (the tartlets well finished by then), she couldn’t remember why the hell not.

Maybe the air had already been too charged by the time she wiped her thumb over Lexa’s lip to catch a crumb there, and maybe Clarke had liked playing with fire, but now she was well on her way to being burned. Lexa’s hands palmed her ass while they kissed, but it was the boldest she allowed herself to be and Clarke was quickly reaching her breaking point.

“Touch me,” she pleaded between kisses.

Lexa let out a choked moan when Clarke reached for her hand and guided it to her breasts. She paused, looking up. The green in her eyes had darkened, especially in the dim light, and she breathed deeply.

“Clarke…”

“I know, I know, just - something. Anything.” Clarke leaned her forehead against Lexa’s. “I feel like a fucking teenager.”

Lexa let out a small laugh before kissing her sweetly, slowly. It had the soothing effect she had intended, and before Clarke realized it, Lexa had lied her down on her back. She hovered over her, then looked down at her cleavage and pressed her lips against the exposed skin.

“Is that better?” She asked.

“Close…”

Lexa let out a hum against her skin, pressing another kiss lower. Clarke brushed her fingers in Lexa’s thick hair, digging just slightly in her scalp, surprised when Lexa let out a small moan and then froze with wide eyes, like Clarke had just found her secret.

“Oh,” Clarke breathed out, her smile widening. She repeated the gesture, pressing her fingers just a bit harder.

Lexa immediately grabbed her hands and pinned them down on each side of Clarke’s head.

“Don’t do that,” she warned her, breathless.

Clarke smirked. “I think I will.”

“It was just a reflex,” Lexa blushed. “It’s been a while.”

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh, happiness bubbling in her chest at how comfortable she felt with Lexa’s body slotted between her legs. “Well, I’m very happy to find out whatever draws out more of those sounds from you.”

Lexa seemed to realize just how close they were, locked together with their fingers entwined. And just like the rooftop when she’d suddenly grabbed her hand, her expression changed. Confident. Eager.

She sat back, eyes trailing down Clarke’s body before she let go of her hands to touch her thighs.

“You like control, don’t you, Clarke?” She asked. She ran her hands up her thighs, caressing them slowly. “But not now.”

Clarke's smile fell completely, not expecting the way Lexa had shifted so quickly from embarrassed to self-assured. She watched as Lexa drank her in, from her bunched up dress to the fast rise and fall of her chest.

“Touch yourself,” Lexa told her, and then leaned down to brush her lips against hers. “The way you did after the rooftop.”

“Lexa-”

“I want to watch you.”

Clarke nodded, her hand trailing down her own body to the bottom of her dress. Lexa watched as she reached beneath the fabric, eager to follow her command. She slid her hand beneath her tights, beneath her underwear, moaning at the relief when she finally touched herself. She knew Lexa could feel her heat; knew they were both reaching a point of no return. It had started when Lexa had kissed her at the start of their date, but Lexa’s hands on her ass while they’d kissed had awakened her completely.

Lexa briefly glanced between their bodies, groaning when she saw Clarke’s hand moving.

“Is this how you did it?” She asked. “Two fingers?”

Clarke let out an obscene moan, too far gone to care. “Three,” she whimpered.

Lexa’s jaw clenched, but her control was remarkable. “Did you imagine it on the rooftop? Me inside you against that wall?”

Clarke’s eyes squeezed shut as she bit down on her lip. “Yes. Fuck.”

She swiped her fingers over her clit, but the angle and her tights restricted most of her movements. She was fairly certain Lexa knew it. Lexa leaned down again, kissing her neck.

“How did I fuck you?” She asked by her ear, one hand reaching up to lightly brush against her breast.

Clarke panted, fighting the unbearable need to penetrate herself. She needed release, and fast, but a part of her was too stubborn to give in just yet.

“You pressed me against the wall,” she revealed, burying her face in Lexa’s neck. With her free hand, she dug her nails in Lexa’s ass, feeling a thrill when Lexa bucked against her. “And then- I… I needed more. I needed you deeper.”

“So I turned you around,” Lexa guessed, squeezing her nipple over the fabric of her dress.

“I- oh, fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you inside me; how well you’d fill me,” Clarke said, her middle finger trembling from the angle, desperate to inch inside herself.

“Jesus, Clarke,” Lexa breathed out in the space between her neck and shoulder. Her lips felt like heaven against her skin. Clarke couldn’t get enough.

“Clarke,” Lexa repeated, raising her head. “Look at me.” It was softer then, more of a plea.

Clarke opened her eyes and felt her movements slow down. It was like experiencing déjà-vu, except of course that was impossible. They’d never done this. But she suddenly realized it had all started here. She’d had her vision on this very couch and here she was - not fulfilling it, exactly, but close. Yet what she’d seen and even felt had never been like this. It had been purely physical - an erotic thrill in her otherwise predictable life. But she hadn’t felt her heart beating out of her chest. She’d had a sense it was more intimate than what she was used to, but hadn’t been able to quite grasp what that meant. She knew now. Their intensity wasn’t so much physical as it was emotional.

She felt safe with Lexa. They still had so much to learn about each other, but she felt safe. And Clarke had never realized the importance of it. Lexa had trusted her with her pain and her heart - that wasn’t something Clarke took lightly. It was a feeling not even her vision could have conveyed.

“Fuck, wait, wait, stop,” she abruptly panted, pulling her hand out of her underwear.

Lexa backed away immediately, but Clarke sat up to stop her from moving off the couch.

“Lexa, I… I want to be with you,” she said, as if the memory of her vision had suddenly clarified everything. “When you’re ready, I want to be with you completely.”

“I want that too.” Lexa still seemed confused, or maybe surprised Clarke had done the equivalent of dunking ice cold water atop her own head.

“Right. And - this is fun. I-” Clarke’s eyes briefly closed as she bit her lip. “Fuck I really want to get off-”

Lexa smiled.

“-but not like this.” Clarke reached out to cup her cheeks. “Not without you.” She kissed Lexa briefly, barely a brush of lips, and watched as her eyes followed her every move so tenderly. “Not if I don’t get to touch you too.”

“Clarke…”

Clarke shook her head, kissing her way down Lexa’s jaw and neck. “Not if I can’t see all of you. Can’t hear you moan my name.” She licked over Lexa’s pulse, enjoying the way her hips moved against her. “Not if I can’t taste you while you come undone.”

Lexa pulled back and brushed away some of Clarke’s wild strands of hair. “Such words… You should be a journalist.”

“I hear they have egos.”

“Oh yes, terrible.”

“I’m glad I found one that’s not so bad then.”

They smiled at each other, then took a breath.

“Sorry,” Clarke sighed. “I feel like I’m the one giving you whiplash now.”

“No, it’s only fair. If anything I admire your restrain.”

Clarke leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Maybe you’ll just have to work harder next time.”

Lexa smirked. “I can do that.” She glanced at her breasts. “At least I made new friends.”

Clarke laughed, enamored. “Alright, well, you and my tits can pick up this conversation another time. I need a shower and if you’re not gone in two minutes, I’m definitely dragging you in with me.”

Lexa hummed in agreement.

After Clarke walked her to the entrance and watched Lexa put on her shoes and jacket, they lingered in the doorway.

“Thank you for tonight,” Clarke said. She had never felt like this before - a part of her desperate to find a way for Lexa to stay. A way to prolong the conversation. To ward off the night so that Lexa and her could just live in this moment a while longer. “The play, the food, this… Everything.”

She hoped Lexa felt the same.

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” Lexa replied, her face still slightly flushed.

“You’ve set the bar high.”

“You took me to a secret hike. I was just trying to catch up.”

At Clarke’s smile, Lexa bit her lip and toyed with the button of her jacket. “Anya used to say I reacted to everything with either fight or flight. I didn’t prove her wrong when I left for Costial, but I don’t want to run away again.”

Clarke nodded in understanding.

“It just… creeps up on me sometimes,” Lexa continued. “I could be having the time of my life one second and the next my chest gets tighter and the world gets smaller. Suffocating.” She gave her a resolute look. “When I meant slow, I meant… I just need to be sure that feeling won’t come between us again." She glanced at her lips. "But… It also means that once we do cross that line, I intend to make up for lost time.”

Clarke swallowed, fighting the urge to drag Lexa back inside. "I’m a patient woman.”

Lexa smiled. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Mm. Text me when you get home?”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the next chapter is the last one! It was just too tempting to write four chapters of foreplay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied, here's more.

Like every autumn in Costial, rain showers overstayed their welcome. Street gutters overflowed and children laughed as they jumped in the growing puddles. With the rain came the storms and lightning; loud cracks of thunder that streaked the moody sky.

Born and raised in California, Lexa couldn’t remember a time her bones had felt this cold. Couldn’t remember it because it had never happened. And she loved Costial - loved every nook and cranny - but she did not love the cold. The umbrella Clarke had lent her had bent in the mocking wind, her scarves were perpetually waterlogged, and her collars drooped sadly. If not currently living through it, Lexa would not believe this capricious weather if she heard about it on the news. It was ridiculous. Borderline maddening.

And yet.

Lexa had never loved a season more.

“Do you know that Wells could walk in any second?”

Lexa nodded against neck and shoulder, her mouth too busy charting a path toward Clarke’s jaw. She had somehow convinced Clarke to show her the cramped room at the back of the café; a perfectly innocent request that, once the door had shut, had ended up with Clarke perched on the desk with Lexa standing between her thighs. And what a fine place to be. Even if Clarke was oddly stiff against her.

“I can go…” Lexa offered, but Clarke dug her fingers in her back and shook her head.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Lexa smiled, her fingers wandering beneath the hem of Clarke’s sweater.

“Ah! Cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa said as she pulled away.

Clarke grabbed her hands. “No, no, it was good.”

Lexa couldn’t help but sigh in frustration. “This is ridiculous.”

“Feeling me up is ridiculous?”

“No!” Lexa replied, eyes widening. “But my feet are still squeaking in my shoes, my fingers are icicles, and I know you think my lips are freezing because you flinch when I kiss you.”

“I do not _flinch_ ,” Clarke denied as she hooked her arms around Lexa’s neck. “I like your kisses. I like them so much I dragged you in here. I just didn’t realize I was dating a refrigerator.”

Lexa did not look amused. “Is it my fault this city turned into the North Pole overnight?”

Clarke grinned. “Oh baby, wait until we get to winter.”

Lexa softened at both the pet name and the implication there would still be a ‘we’ in winter. She’d hoped for it, of course, but they were still taking each day as it came and had yet to define what 'we’ even meant. There was no rush, however. They both knew where the other stood.

“You never called me that before.”

“Well, there was a counter and a tip jar between us before.”

Of course there had been much more than that between them. It was hard to believe Lexa now stood flush against Clarke with their mouths kiss-stained and their hands so eager to touch - even if the cold didn’t help matters. Lexa was still working on her in-depth report on the visions, but in recent nights Clarke had lied awake wondering about the meaning behind them too.

Clearly she had been nudged toward Lexa, and it had certainly precipitated things between them, but would she never have entertained the thought without it? Would she really still be wrapped up in her tepid routine if she hadn’t heard Lexa whispering her name while kissing a path down her body? A part of her wanted to believe she would have had the impulse to speak to Lexa regardless of the vision. Maybe it would’ve made things easier between them; and maybe it would’ve made them harder.

“I should probably go thaw somewhere,” Lexa said with a sigh.

Clarke shook her head. “You need a source of warmth. Why don’t you just have at it?”

Lexa laughed, her eyes crinkling with joy.

“I’m very serious,“ Clarke said.

“I know. It’s why I’m so happy.”

Clarke sat back, casually leaning against the wall the desk was pushed against. “Good. I intend to keep it that way.”

Lexa bit her lip. “Can I pick you up at closing time tomorrow?”

“I wasn’t aware we had plans.”

“I thought it could be a surprise. And I know I promised something upscale on our third date, but I think you’ll really like this place.”

“Third date, huh? I was supposed to assess if you have game by now.”

“And?” Lexa asked.

Clarke was quiet, enjoying watching Lexa stew for just a beat. They were both getting to be experts at this slow, simmering pace.

“You really like me, hm?”

Lexa arched a brow, her hands still dangerously high on Clarke’s thighs. “I’ve never stood in wet socks for anyone else before.”

Clarke laughed. “A yes would suffice, but-“ she sat closer again “-now I’m intrigued. Does this date involve not walking? Because my feet generally do kill me after work.”

Lexa brushed back the strand of hair that had fallen from Clarke’s messy top bun. “That’s fine, I’ll find a pumpkin to turn into a carriage for you.”

“Oh good, there’s still plenty of those at the patch.”

“So it’s a yes?”

Clarke draped her arms over Lexa’s shoulders. “It’s a maybe you can persuade me,” she said, tempting Lexa to make a move with a quick swipe of her tongue against her plump, bottom lip.

Lexa did not disappoint, her hand coming up to cup her cheek before she kissed her. Clarke was keenly aware that each one of Lexa’s kisses lasted longer than the last. Her journalist was hungry for affection, but she was eager to give it too, especially when she was encouraged. Clarke had come to the conclusion after Lexa had spent her time on her neck, adorning it with languid kisses while Clarke had lost herself to the sensation of her mouth against her skin. Yes, Clarke was particularly weak when it came to her neck - not that Lexa had needed the verbal confirmation - and there was more than one tender spot that made her whole body jolt with pleasure. Something about baring herself and being vulnerable. The point being: Lexa was a generous partner.

When she kissed, Lexa was so purposeful that Clarke felt like she was an instrument Lexa had practiced for a decade. She dipped her tongue inside Clarke’s mouth and changed the angle smoothly, leading their little dance with a smile Clarke felt against her own. Hands moved amorously up and down Clarke’s thighs; up and down Lexa’s waist and ass.

Clarke hadn’t been kidding when she’d said Lexa made her feel like a teenager. She hadn’t felt this bubbling giddiness in years, not since first everythings in high school at least, but she was glad for her years of experience when it came to keeping up with Lexa. She would’ve never understood the girl in her arms years ago. She did now - vision or no vision - and it gave her a thrill.

Sometimes Clarke wondered if Lexa was determined to compete with herself. To be better than what Clarke had seen - almost like she was jealous of the woman she’d become. And if she was like this when merely kissing, Clarke had already fantasized that she would be like this in bed, too. Clarke so far had kept the details of her vision to herself, but not out of coyness. How could she explain that she would choose kissing Lexa fully clothed in a cramped space over a thousand more visions? That it was actually feeling Lexa against her; their honesty and vulnerability that had fulfilled the ache she’d felt for years? It was too soon for words like that.

But she could show her. With her entire body tingling, Clarke could do nothing but chase that high. She deepened the kiss, this time the one pushing rather than pulling, the one brushing her nose over Lexa’s. Suddenly it felt like heat had risen in the room and her clothes felt too heavy. She couldn’t remember ever kissing like this before - like she could do it for hours and not tire. But something quickly changed when - unconsciously, she’d swear it later - she spread her thighs wider to wrap herself around Lexa. With her hands on her ass, she pulled Lexa closer, tighter, and when her breasts pressed firmly against Lexa’s, it was the start of something else entirely.

They stayed entwined like this for far longer than was safe in the back of the café. The door didn’t even lock, yet all Clarke could think was pulling Lexa until she was flush atop her on the damn desk. It was Lexa who moaned in her mouth, a sound so deep and sensual it had Clarke’s heart pound in her ears. But Clarke wasn’t prepared for Lexa suddenly grinding against her in a moment of desperation, and if they’d been naked she knew very well Lexa would be inside her by now.

At the mere thought, the jolt of lust through Clarke’s body was so strong she pushed Lexa away. Lexa, slightly dizzy from their kiss, staggered back.

“Um…”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” Clarke exclaimed with wide eyes as she sat up. “I - I don’t know why I did that.”

Lexa licked her bottom lip and looked at Clarke, taking in the way she breathed and how she tried to very unsubtly rub her thighs together. She swallowed thickly.

“Are you sure you don’t know?”

Clarke jumped off the desk. "That was- I should uh- get back to work,“ she said, avoiding her eyes.

Lexa stepped aside, waiting for Clarke to follow through. When Clarke finally looked at her, she closed the space between them with a smirk and guided her against the wall. Clarke drew in a sharp breath, her legs so weak she would have slid down if it weren’t for Lexa’s hand on her waist.

"You still didn’t say yes to our date…” Lexa pointed out.

Clarke cleared her throat. “Maybe you didn’t make a compelling enough argument.”

Lexa looked between them and smiled. “This is familiar.”

“The rooftop?” Clarke asked, glancing between Lexa’s eyes and her lips. She could barely think, let alone follow Lexa’s train of thought. God, how was she supposed to go back to work like this?

“The hotel,” Lexa replied before kissing her jaw and then her neck again. “Only, I couldn’t do this back then. Couldn’t have you like this.”

Clarke closed her eyes, each word pushing her dangerously close to begging for release. She knew she was wet; knew today would be more difficult than the other days. It was almost unfair, but a part of her liked the challenge. There was a thrill to it; to testing their willpower.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Lexa admitted, just as affected by their previous kiss. She was breathing hard too; her kisses more like nuzzling now. “I always want to kiss you.”

“We were both drunk. It would’ve been a mess.”

“What if you’d said yes?” Lexa whispered. “What if you’d come with me to the theater that night?”

Here in their little bubble, it was so easy to imagine a different world. A world where Clarke hadn’t said yes to Niylah and a world where Lexa had never been hurt in the past.

“We would have laughed like we did.”

Lexa smiled. “Yes. Then I would’ve asked you to dance.”

“I would’ve watched you play poker and been wildly impressed.”

“Oh?”

Clarke tugged at Lexa’s belt loops to bring her closer. “What can I say? Cards in the right hands get me going. I would’ve asked if we could comp a room in this ridiculously overpriced hotel.”

“We’d get the view on the mountains.” Lexa sighed, as if this fantasy seemed so much further now. “I’d try to give you the best night of your life.”

It was nice to imagine it all, but Clarke realized she didn’t regret it. They’d gone on their own little path. She kissed Lexa sweetly, but not without intent. It was much softer than their last, both of them aware the real world awaited.

"I like this better. I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Lexa looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And then, because Lexa was still waiting, Clarke smiled again: “Take me on a date, baby.”

* * *

A few minutes before closing time the next day, Clarke was waiting at the end of the counter for surprise customers. Gaia was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and Wells was pulling out ingredients for the next day. He had stayed much later today, going over resumes for their interviews tomorrow, but also reorganizing the kitchen.

After giving Gustus a call to offer him the job, Wells had realized that things would get crowded quite quickly. Gustus was a big man and the kitchen was on the smaller side, but it was workable with a different layout. Clarke thanked her lucky stars for her best friend's ability to adapt to situations, as she herself disliked big changes. Regardless of the possible growing pains ahead, it was an exciting time for the café.

Right after Gaia left with a tired wave, Wells found Clarke absentmindedly drawing the branches of the weeping fig. The last customers had left as well and the sun had already set. The mugs were clean, the plates drying, and the day's crumbs swept from the floor. It hadn't rained at all today; a small mercy given that Clarke couldn't stop thinking about her date with Lexa. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but heavy rain might've halted Lexa's plans and she didn't have the patience to wait another day.

Wells peeked at her drawing pad and sighed. "God, she's a beauty," he said dreamily.

Clarke snorted. His fondness for their Ficus was a running joke between them. "Weirdo."

Wells gave her a tired grin as he buttoned up his wool peacoat. He always looked so sharp in winter wear, whereas Clarke always felt like a bulky bear. She'd dressed up a little today - fitted dark pants and a knitted sweater with a nice scoop neck. Her boots were clean and if her hair's curls had loosened over the day, she had still clearly made an effort to look presentable.

“So, you had your vision," said Wells.

Clarke dropped her pencil. "Wh- I- what?"

"It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it? When you came in looking like you hadn’t slept a wink."

Shame gripped her. "Wells, I-"

“You’re looking more crimson than cranberry juice,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to bring it up," she said. She'd always felt guilty for keeping it from him, but it wasn't the easiest topic either. "Did Raven tell you?"

"Nah, she even deflected when I wondered aloud. You just started acting weird whenever someone mentioned visions. You hate lying, so I figured you didn't want to be asked if you'd had one."

Clarke closed her notepad. She should have known he'd catch on. "I didn't mean to be secretive. You know I would've told you the minute it happened, it just wasn't… family friendly."

"Yeah, I figured. It's good though? I mean, you're happy, right?"

It was a surprising question, though it shouldn't have been. Clarke hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't something she asked herself or even expected. For so long happiness had just revolved around the café. Finding the right name; the right building; the right theme. She'd judged her days based on their achieved goals and for a while it had been a thrill. And it still was - her work made her proud and it made her happy too - but it wasn't everything. She'd come to face that recently, and though the wake up call had been… unconventional, certainly, she was grateful for it.

"I am. I'm seeing her, actually. The woman from my vision. You'd recognize her - she's a regular."

Wells nodded as if he'd already put two and two together. “At Octavia and Lincoln's party I saw you talking to her. Then it clicked she wrote that article on Finn - I remembered checking her profile on the Gazette when it dropped."

"Yeah, she works there. She's writing a piece on the visions actually."

"So it's getting serious?" He asked hesitantly.

And really, Clarke couldn't fault his curiosity. She'd been so wrapped up in Lexa that she'd neglected their relationship and now he was unsure if he should gently prod or wait.

“It’s new and we’re taking things slow, but yeah, I'm hoping it'll work out. I really like her."

Wells looked over her shoulder toward the entrance and smiled. "Seems like she really likes you too."

Clarke turned around and saw that Lexa had parked her car and was just crossing the street toward the café.

"Are you coming in tomorrow?" He asked her.

Clarke whipped around, her cheeks flushed. "What? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno, you tell me." He laughed as he checked for his keys in his pocket. "Gaia and Harper have the early shift, in case you forgot. We just have those three interviews in the afternoon, but you already know that."

"I do know," she replied with a frown. "There's no reason I wouldn't be here earlier. I'm always here. What are you saying?"

He shrugged, entirely too proud of himself, and walked toward the back exit. "No one will fault you if you take a break. Enjoy your date!"

"I will! And I'll see you in the morning!" Clarke replied stubbornly.

"I'm sure you will!" he retorted, still snickering, before closing the door behind him.

A hand touched Clarke's shoulder and she startled.

"Sorry," Lexa said with a gentle smile. She'd put on her black coat today, the top buttons undone to reveal her sweater - a reddish brown this time, perfect for the fall. Her hair was down and her eyeliner perhaps more pronounced than usual. Clarke wondered if she'd applied it in her car. She looked beautiful.

"Hi, baby," she softened, forgetting all about Well's teasing. He didn't know what he was talking about. Tonight was just going to be a nice date. Some food, wine - whatever Lexa had planned. They were still going slow. Clarke didn't have any expectations other than enjoying their time together. She liked their pace. It was… frustrating at times, sure, but it was working. They had both opened up to each other.

"Hi," Lexa whispered before she inched forward so that she could kiss her over the counter. Clarke sighed into it, having imagined such sweetness all day long.

"Am I too early?" Lexa asked. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

Clarke brushed her thumb over Lexa's jaw. "No, I'm done. I just need to grab my coat and close up."

"Was that Wells who went out back?"

"Yes, he was being ridiculous."

"I thought he usually left earlier?"

"He does, but he's been rearranging the kitchen. I think he's worried Gustus will find it too small."

"Gus has an entire farm and acres of land at his disposal, but he sleeps in his shed because it's warm," Lexa said. "He won't mind."

Clarke beamed, delighted to hear it. "I'm going to give you Wells' number and you're going to text him just that. "

While Clarke left to grab her coat, Lexa worried her lip. "Oh but he doesn't really know me…"

"He will."

Clarke came out from the back with her coat and scarf on. She pulled out her set of keys. "He's my best friend and you're my-" she stopped herself. "I think you'd get along great. He loves theater, devours literature, and he already thinks you're amazing for taking Finn down. So don't worry about it."

"Well, that reminds me: Collins went ahead with suing the Gazette."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

They made their way to the front, where Lexa opened the door for Clarke. "No. It'll never stand, but he aims to waste our time and money."

"Waste of time and money - that's been his motto since birth."

Lexa wrinkled her nose. "Let's talk about something else."

"Please. So where's my carriage?"

Lexa laughed.

* * *

Lexa may not have found a pumpkin to turn into a carriage after all, but her car smelled like apples and she drove so smoothly Clarke could've closed her eyes and imagined they weren't moving at all. She had never thought 'great driver' would do it for her, but here she was eyeing Lexa's hands on the steering wheel and feeling hot.

"How's the writing going?" Clarke asked, clearing her throat when her voice started off slightly rough.

Lexa took a left, which would've surprised Clarke if she'd paid any attention to the road. But all she could think about was Lexa's razor-sharp focus and how she yearned to be the reason for it.

"Good, I finished a first draft. My writing partner is looking at it for now. I need it out of my sight for a few days."

"Partner, huh?"

Lexa smiled as she kept her eyes on the road. "Echo. She wrote most of the FC&B article."

"Did you write for other newspapers before?"

Lexa nodded. "Two. I've been lucky, professionally. Smaller papers have always been more interesting to me, so I stayed away from national ones. I was able to climb the ladder a lot faster than some of my old classmates."

"The Gazette must've been a change of pace. New city, new job - I don't think I could handle it."

"When they hired me I was so happy to be working I just threw myself into it," Lexa admitted. "I got the idea on the Mountain Men soon after, just from reading old archives about them. That kept me busy, so I didn't have time to worry about fitting in. It was nice. Exciting. It felt like falling in love with my job again. Then one day Echo invited me to grab drinks with other colleagues and… I realized things had fallen into place already."

"Costial is pretty magical like that," Clarke said with a smile. She loved it when Lexa talked about her time here. Sometimes it was easy to forget she hadn't even been here a year yet. Clarke remembered her first year in the city - how she'd felt like she'd always belonged here. How she couldn't wait to build her life here. And college had been fun, and sometimes she walked by the campus just for the nostalgia of it, but it was the years after that had really shaped her life into what it was today. There had been many tears and failures before the café, but she'd never once thought of leaving. She hoped Lexa felt the same.

One glance outside the window and Clarke finally had an idea where they were headed. They were quite far from the center of the city now, just a few miles away from Busy Moose Park and its lake on the outskirts. Lexa took the road that led to the park, but she didn't make the turn Clarke had expected and instead continued straight.

"Are we going to the factory?" Clarke asked.

The chocolate factory and its surroundings were certainly a sight to behold, and popular with teens because of its smells and aesthetic quality, but there wasn't much to do unless you brought a picnic. Which was unlikely to be comfortable anyway in this cold.

"Not quite," Lexa answered with a secretive smile.

A few minutes later she finally pulled over into a small parking lot, checking for Clarke's reaction as soon as they got out of the car.

“I know I said I’d take you somewhere more upscale, but I thought you might really like this place."

Because the factory was just a ways down the road and it was windy tonight, the bold smell of chocolate permeated the air. They had stopped in front of a rustic restaurant surrounded by a garden. Small lights glowed softly against the brick walls, complimented by the dancing shadows from a few lanterns. There was a patio with beams covered in twining vines, the plants and wisteria also covering the top like a ceiling. Powerful heaters kept the biting cold at bay, no doubt, making the entire place look like a winter fairytale.

It was the kind of romantic setting Clarke would have made fun of in front of friends while secretly hoping to experience it one day.

“How the hell have I never been here before?” She asked in astonishment.

With a hand on her back, Lexa led her toward the entrance.

“Did you know _Icicle_? Italian restaurant?”

“Yeah, that rings a bell.”

“This is it. The owner retired and her son took over - revamped the whole place from top to bottom and gave it a mountain lodge theme. He figured they should capitalize on the location more, especially the constant sweetness in the air. It just reopened a few weeks ago. Featured in the Gazette and everything.”

“Oh, that might’ve been when I was a bit angry at you," Clarke remembered and gave Lexa a teasing grin. "Deleted the app like it was some kind of statement."

Lexa scrunched up her nose, not too eager to remember that time. The hostess seated them inside at a secluded table for two. The light was dimmed and there was a candle between them; and even two squares of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

After they took off their coats and sat, Lexa bit her lip. “It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous." Clarke reached for her hand. "You're always surprising me."

A waiter gave them a menu and a basket of bread. They looked like mini baguettes and Clarke was temped to steal one for Wells.

“God, I almost forgot about this smell," she said, taking a deep breath. The chocolate from the factory still wafted faintly in the air, and mixed with the smell of food it had Clarke already salivating for dinner. "In college we used to hang out by the lake a lot. If the wind was on our side we’d always get a whiff from the factory. Not even edibles could beat that.”

Lexa arched a brow. “Edibles, huh?”

“Please, I know you’ve dabbled," Clarke scoffed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The pothead vibe? I thought I was unreadable.”

“Oh you have that vibe too," Clarke laughed. "But then there’s the tattoos, the plants, the way you write about nature. You’re curious, open minded, _and_ you went to a liberal arts college. You must’ve tried it at least once. I think that’s how you approach most things: don’t knock ‘till you try it. Am I close?”

Lexa looked away, slightly flummoxed. “It sounds like I’m more of an open book then.”

"Maybe that's a good thing…" Clarke offered with a hopeful smile, thumb caressing the back of her hand.

"Maybe it is," Lexa agreed.

They both picked the apricot glazed chicken with roasted potatoes, pairing it with a white wine. Throughout dinner Clarke felt such pleasant warmth, both because of the wine and Lexa's steady gaze on her. She was relaxed and unfairly charming; a great listener by all accounts, but also coming out of her shell when it came to her own past. Clarke knew it wasn't easy for her, which made it all the more special.

"In retrospect I should've figured politics weren’t for me when I started screaming at my television every time the news came on."

Clarke grinned, knowing the sentiment all too well. "Good thing you don't work for a newspaper or anything…"

Swallowing the last of her wine, Lexa gave her a playful smirk. " _Local news._ I can take the city hall drama. I actually enjoy it with my morning pastry."

"That I can believe. You always look so deep in thought when you read. Harper dropped a cup once and you didn't even flinch."

"Really?" Lexa asked. "Is there anything else I do that I should know about?"

The waiter stopped by with their desserts: molten chocolate cake for Lexa and a slice of pear tart for Clarke.

"It's not like I stare or anything," Clarke clarified as she grabbed her spoon. "Your seat just happens to be in my vicinity."

"Mm." Lexa smirked. "I guess I just pop up sometimes…" she trailed off, her tone heavy with implication.

She did this occasionally, but more boldly recently. Alluding to Clarke's vision seemed to greatly entertain Lexa.

"Ha, you're funny," Clarke deadpanned.

"Did I also crack jokes while I was kissing you - and I quote - _everywhere_?" Lexa goaded.

Clarke shrugged as she chewed on her tart. "Actually you were a lot more suave than you are now. Pity."

Lexa laughed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Please, you're very proud of yourself. And it's not fair all I have to go on is your distaste for coffee." Clarke remembered how frantic she had been after her vision, her mind firing questions every second. “Did you know I went to a vision reader right after?”

It had been an impulse and she'd regretted it, but she figured Lexa was familiar with them.

"Really?" Lexa asked, surprised.

“Yeah, the one by the market. _Becca’s Reading_ or something. I bailed at the last minute.”

“I actually haven’t spoken to one. I was toying with the idea, but it might be an entirely different article.”

Clarke grimaced. “They’re just opportunistic money grabbers.”

Lexa offered a spoonful of her cake, which Clarke took before plopping a bit of pear on top of it. The warm chocolate melted the pear in her mouth and she sighed at the taste. Lexa smiled.

“It’s a different point of view. Besides, listening to so many stories might’ve given them some valuable insight even if they opened a shop for the wrong reasons. If my job’s taught me anything it’s to not judge a book by its cover.”

"Hmm you're good at it - your job. And I'm not just saying that because you're wining and dining me."

Lexa looked bashful. "You know, I remember when you yelled at me to get over myself."

"Not our finest moment…"

"No," Lexa agreed. "But it was needed. Before that there was so much I wanted to tell you, but… couldn't."

"I know." Clarke remembered that feeling as well. After the vision she'd look at Lexa and be so certain there was so much left unsaid between them, yet neither of them knew where to start, or if it was reciprocated. "I should've let you interview me - just ripped off the Band-Aid. It would've explained a lot."

"I would've never made it past the first question," Lexa said. " _Can you share what you saw, Clarke?_ "

Clarke smiled cheekily around a mouthful of her tart. "Well, I would hope that kind of confession would score me a date at least."

"Oh I would have asked you out on the spot," Lexa replied with a smirk.

Clarke gasped. "How very unprofessional of you."

"If you hadn't noticed, my professionalism hangs by a thread whenever I'm near you."

Clarke let out a small laugh. "Well, that's one thing I'm glad for."

* * *

After their dinner, Lexa suggested they walk in the park before it closed. It was cold but their coats were thick and the wind was minimal. Clarke had no desire to part just yet, and so took Lexa's hand in hers as soon as they left the car by the park's entrance.

They had a little less than thirty minutes before it closed, but enjoyed every second as they strolled by the lake. The half-moon was reflected on the quiet surface, and though there were a few other people, Clarke felt like they had just stepped into a world of their own.

Clarke nudged Lexa toward one of the Beech trees, its autumn leaves still clinging bravely to its thick branches. They settled beneath it, lying down on the soft ground where leaves piled atop the grass. Between the branches they could see some stars, and Clarke wondered if maybe the park could close and leave them be. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.

She heard some rustling and then saw Lexa look down at her, her face framed by her wavy hair and the stars above. She took Clarke's breath away.

"You're so beautiful," Lexa murmured, struck by a similar thought it seemed. "You have the kindest eyes and the warmest smile. It's the first thing I ever noticed about you."

Clarke reached up to kiss her, parting only when she felt Lexa's hand on her stomach. Even atop her coat and thick clothing, she could feel its warmth.

"I think you're drunk on wine and chocolate."

"Then you'll be relived to hear I'm a very sincere drunk."

Clarke giggled, which made Lexa's smile stretch in such a fond way. She pressed closer to her, the tip of her nose brushing against her neck. She kissed the small spot, as if to apologize for her cold nose.

"I wonder so much about you, Clarke."

Clarke hummed. "What do you wonder about?"

“I’ve spoken with a lot of people. Heard the visions about reuniting with loved ones, getting over addictions, graduating. There’s been some romance of course,” Lexa said. “Aden’s first kiss, though he couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face. Echo celebrating a wedding anniversary with her husband. But so few - even online in anonymous circles - so few like yours.”

Now Clarke felt warm again, mostly from the blush on her cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”

Lexa lifted her head from her shoulder. “Have you personally heard of any?”

“Raven saw Wells naked.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Okay, so I'm a pervert, what can I say?”

“No,” Lexa replied, tickled by Clarke's little huff. “You’re a mystery. You intrigue me.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Well I’ve had a bit of a dry spell. I had flings, but… I didn't allow myself anything more. The café was taking up all my thoughts and for a while it worked for me. Then the days got long again, and lonelier… Raven said it was probably just my body wanting me to snap out of it.”

“And what do you think?”

Clarke did wonder about it then, or at least differently than she had in the past. It wasn't so long ago she'd asked these questions herself. She'd been so frustrated she couldn't discuss them with the person she'd shared it with, and here she was, lying right next to her in a bed of leaves.

She touched Lexa's hand on her stomach, lacing and unlacing their fingers, gently playing with them as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Have you never fantasized about a stranger?" She asked quietly, catching Lexa's eyes. "Someone who knows nothing about you and yet knows exactly how to make your body soar?"

“That’s not what you saw though, is it?” Lexa murmured. “I wasn’t a stranger in your bed. I knew you and you knew me."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. She wanted so badly to kiss Lexa again; to feel her body against hers like the night on her couch.

"Lex…"

Their lips were just a hair's breadth apart now. To anyone else, they would've looked like they were kissing.

"How was it different, Clarke?"

Clarke swallowed, trying to find the words. “How? The way you handled me - needy and possessive, but tender and attentive too. Like you were in charge of my pleasure and you had to remind me."

She saw Lexa swallow and so continued, eager to share everything this time: "You said my name and it almost sounded like a prayer - like you couldn’t believe we were together. I never heard my name like that before. I never thought I could make someone feel lucky."

"God, Clarke, you have no idea." Lexa exhaled before closing the gap and kissing her. It wasn't like any other kiss they'd shared tonight. It felt like a promise, almost. Lexa tasted so sweet on her tongue and Clarke could only wonder if all of her was just as heavenly.

She cupped the back of her neck and felt herself throb with desire, her mind filled with both the reality of Lexa and the last of her vision.

"I can even remember the smell of us," Clarke sighed between kisses. "How sticky my skin felt, like we'd been in bed for hours."

"Clarke - fuck."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back and cupped her cheeks, claiming her lips quite quickly again. She licked into her mouth and moaned at the silky feel of Lexa's tongue.

"Sometimes I'd try to picture us again but you'd disappear," Clarke continued, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck. "I wasn't sure if it was you anymore. But then you'd come back. I'd feel your hands, your mouth on me… lower, and lower…"

Lexa let out a groan and pinched the bridge of her nose before falling back on the ground, the leaves rustling beneath her. Something in the way she set her jaw made Clarke frown.

"Baby…" she said, tracing a finger over her cheekbone.

"Did you call her that?" Lexa asked without thinking.

Clarke retracted her hand and paused. A grin spread on her face. “What? Are you jealous… of yourself?”

Lexa glared petulantly. “No.”

“You _are_."

Lexa remained quiet, so after a moment Clarke poked her arm. “Well what about yours?”

"Mine?"

"I wasn't even in it - how do you think that makes me feel?"

Lexa shook her head. "You were in it."

"You said you were just standing in a random kitchen making coffee."

"Yes."

"So?"

They heard the echo of a bicycle's bell on the pathway and turned to the sound, but the couple soon rode away. Clarke looked at Lexa again, finding her staring at the sky.

“What are you keeping from me?”

A small smile grew on Lexa's face - but she remained tightlipped.

"How was I there?" Clarke asked again, deeply curious.

"The doodles," Lexa simply replied.

Clarke remembered that she'd found that to be a strange detail before. She didn't put up her doodles on walls and she didn't frame them. These had to be important. Something that made her identity unmistakable in Lexa's eyes. Sure it could be that her style was recognizable, but Lexa made it sound as if it was something else.

“Lex…"

She lifted Lexa's chin to catch her gaze.

“If I tell you, I worry it might not happen," Lexa admitted.

Clarke bit her lip, finally understanding. It was almost like saying a wish out loud - fearing it might not come true if you broke that single rule.

“You want it to happen?” She asked instead.

A breeze passed as Lexa looked at her intently, leaving no room for doubt. “Yes.”

There was no waver in her voice. Not even an ounce of hesitation. The sheer confidence set Clarke alight. She’d forgotten how it felt to feel so wanted. Whatever it was in that frame… Lexa clearly hoped for it in their future. The fact that she wanted it with her, and no one else, made her desire swell.

She leaned down and kissed her right against the grass and by the slumbering tree, forgetting all about the doodles. Lexa believed it was her - that was all that mattered. After weeks of being unsure of where they stood, if her feelings were even shared, she didn't need anything more.

Lexa wound her arm around her waist, her mouth still as hungry against Clarke's. When they pulled away, she pressed their foreheads together.

“I wish I could see us like you did," she murmured wistfully.

"What would it change?"

“Maybe… maybe if I knew I was good enough for you… If I was sure that I wouldn’t- that I wouldn’t hurt you-"

Clarke shook her head. "Don’t fill your head with thoughts like that. Let's just be here, together, and worry about the rest when it comes. I know it's hard for you, but this - us - right now… it's good, isn't it?"

Lexa nodded. "It's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Relieved, Clarke tucked her head beneath Lexa's chin. "Then just be with me. You can be happy, baby. You have a right to it. Don't let anyone or anything tell you otherwise."

Eventually they made their way back to Lexa's car, neither of them interested in picking up their leisurely pace.

"I'm sorry we ended up walking so much," Lexa said.

"You fed me beforehand, so it's forgiven."

Lexa smiled. "Good to know."

Before they reached the parking lot, Clarke decided to ask what had been on her mind: "I know you said Costial feels like home to you; that you found your place here, but… do you see your future here? Because this is it for me. And I'm… I like you, Lex. I like you a lot. I don't want to be an interlude. I don't think I could take it."

" _Clarke_ ," Lexa stepped closer to her. "You're not an interlude, you're - God, you've been in every act of my life here. I don't want to go anywhere. I- I want to be with you. That's what I know for certain. Is that alright for now?"

"It is."

Lexa kissed her softly and then smirked. "I may not have had erotic visions of myself entwined with a hot local, but I still want to stay here."

Clarke shoved her playfully. "God, I don't even like you anymore."

They laughed the whole way to the car.

* * *

It seemed like a tradition already; Lexa walking her to her door while Clarke racked her mind for a way to linger. When they finally arrived she leaned against her door and sighed.

"Tonight was amazing."

Lexa hummed. "I'm glad."

"I'm definitely taking you out this weekend," Clarke said.

"You are?" Lexa asked, tilting her head to kiss her again.

Clarke closed the gap as she wrapped her arms around her neck. The kiss was slow; amatory, but as always it could not go on for too long before hands wandered.

"I hope you have sweet dreams," Lexa said, her eyes hooded and her lips slightly redder.

"Oh I will."

Lexa glanced at her mouth. "If I pay you a visit again maybe you could keep a journal close by. I'd love some notes on my performance."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Remind me why I ever told you?" 

"What? That we lasted _hours_?" Lexa husked.

Right. Clarke narrowed her eyes and let her hands slowly drag down Lexa's arms. Now, Clarke wasn't innocent. She knew fully what made her look good, even when her coat was buttoned up. She had let Lexa tease her and goad her about the vision all night, and she had kept her retort to herself. But no more.

She pressed her body closer to Lexa's, unmistakably provocative with the way their breasts touched.

“Make fun all you want, Lexa, but remember this: I’ve seen all of you while you haven’t seen an inch of me.” She felt Lexa’s hand tighten on her waist. “I’ve felt your body against mine. Your mouth on my thighs. I’ve felt your tongue inside me.” She glanced down at Lexa's lips and then back up, proud of the gobsmacked look on her face. “So you can tease me. You can push my buttons. I can take it. But you? You only have your imagination." She stepped back and gave her sultriest smile, "And trust me, it’s got nothing on reality.”

She turned around and quickly unlocked her door, then looked over her shoulder. "Thanks for the date, baby."

As soon as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Clarke knew she'd just played a dirty hand. But Lexa had teased her all night and all was fair in lust.

With a wicked grin, too pleased by the night's events, Clarke took off her coat and slipped out of her shoes and socks. And because she just couldn't resist one last look, she walked to her window and waited. Finally she saw Lexa walk out of the building. She seemed unfocused, going right and then left, forgetting where she'd parked.

But then she stopped and turned around.

Clarke's smile fell. Just watching Lexa like this, seeing the effect she had on her… it changed something. She had closed the door in the spur of the moment - because they were good at testing each other. Because she had thought tonight should end there, on another game of theirs.

But she didn’t want to play anymore.

And maybe Lexa realized it too. She looked up and found her apartment's window. 

Their eyes met.

Clarke reached out for the curtain, gripping it so tight her knuckles went white. She couldn't look away from those eyes in the moonlight if she tried. Even if the ground started shaking beneath their feet.

"Lexa-" she started before stopping herself. It had to be Lexa's decision. Clarke had already made hers. She couldn't call out to her. Not for this. Lexa had to choose.

Clarke held her breath, unsure she'd even be able to leave this spot if Lexa did walk away after all. Until-

Lexa bolted back toward the building.

Clarke watched her disappear from view and then heard her intercom. She rushed toward it and pressed the buzzer, her heart in her throat. Still barefoot, she pulled the door open and waited. Footsteps thundered up the flights of stairs, closer and closer.

Tonight had not ended. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think they're going to knit a scarf together or something?


	6. Chapter 6

Though hope could be dangerous, Clarke had felt it bloom when Lexa had turned around to look up at her. She still couldn't chase it away while she waited for Lexa to reach the top of the stairs, and even less when Lexa finally appeared, breathing fast, with cheeks already slightly red from the chill of the night. Clarke wanted nothing more than to run to her, but something had her rooted in place.

Now barefoot and without her coat, she should have felt the cold floor and the chill in the corridor. Instead, all she could feel was her heart racing. Lexa seemed stunned to be back here, but in awe rather than shock. Her mouth opened and closed twice, like she was thinking too fast and reconsidering each one of her words.

Finally, Clarke couldn't take the silence any longer: "If you come any closer-"

"I know," Lexa replied immediately. "Believe me, I know."

Lexa said the last part with such yearning that Clarke had to clutch the side of her door, as if it digging her nails into it might somehow smother the fire inside her. Conscious of how desire could override good sense, at least in their shared history, she knew honesty was the only way forward:

"I don't want just tonight," she said, voice cracking at the end.

This couldn't be an impulse. It couldn't be an itch to scratch. Clarke had always known she wanted more. That if regret entered their thoughts in the morning, her heart would break. It was what her vision had told her all along: that avoiding vulnerability had kept her from a more meaningful connection. That she'd quieted a part of herself out of fear it would crush her. And she hoped Lexa was thinking the same; that she'd turn away if deep down she knew it wasn't right just yet. After all, it may have felt like an eternity since they'd decided to take their time, but the reality was quite a bit shorter.

As if answering those fears, Lexa shook her head. "When I was down there I remembered what I told you earlier: that I'm certain about us. And… I am. _I am_ , Clarke. I want every minute you'd give me." She started walking then, her hand brushing against the wall to steady herself. "I want mornings in your kitchen; afternoons in your café." She stopped and swallowed. "And I want nights in your arms."

There was a beat - an agreement between them - that felt so similar to the one before their first kiss that Clarke knew nothing else could follow it but just that. She shot off, and Lexa did too, until they met each other in the middle of the corridor. Clarke pulled Lexa into her, and Lexa's hands went to her waist, both of them moaning in relief when they finally kissed, warm lips meeting cold ones with such force that Lexa stumbled and her back thudded against the wall.

"Sorry!" Clarke said.

Lexa smiled just then, deliriously happy, before kissing her again. She had Clarke pressed against the opposite wall in a second.

"Don't be," she said. "I like it."

Their next kiss held nothing back - not after Clarke heard such an admission - and ended only when Lexa pressed her lips against her jawline.

"I've played this out in my head so many times," Lexa breathed out shakily. "At the café I'd look at you and I'd remember how it felt to kiss you - to _finally_ kiss you."

Clarke moaned as Lexa continued claiming her neck.

"I'd wish I could press you up against the display again and never make the mistake of pulling away. Take you right there." Her hands tightened on Clarke's waist and then inched up with a hunger written on her face. "You feel so right, Clarke. You always have. I can't even think straight when you're in the room. It's all you, all the time."

Clarke felt dizzy, unable to think coherently herself let alone form words with her mouth. She reached for Lexa's hand and brought it to her breast over her sweater, breathing hotly in the small space that separated their lips. "Then take me now," she managed to plead.

Lexa groaned before reclaiming her lips, cupping her breast at the same time their kiss deepened. Her tongue was silky soft, but her hands had a roughness to them that made Clarke throb with want. There was nothing rough or careless about Lexa herself, but weeks of thinking instead of acting had both of them on edge.

In the back of her mind, Clarke vaguely remembered they had yet to cross into her apartment, but at the forefront was Lexa's body pressed tightly against hers, Lexa's tongue in her mouth, and Lexa's hands on her breasts. She moaned loudly, and maybe it was that that spurred Lexa on. She guided Clarke toward the door, both of them clumsily trying to kiss at the same time, lips stretching into smiles when they bumped into each other.

Clarke finally opened Lexa's coat, and Lexa finally had her bra unsnapped, the move so swift that Clarke was only aware of it when Lexa slipped a hand beneath her sweater and cupped her bare breast. Her knees went weak and she stifled a cry against Lexa's neck. She was pressed against the wall again, the ache between her legs growing stronger.

"Lexa, baby, wait- _inside_."

Lexa nodded but made no move in that direction, instead crouching down to kiss her cleavage. She licked and nipped the exposed skin while she palmed her breast, until she couldn't help herself and ran a thumb over the stiff peak. Clarke gasped and threaded her fingers through Lexa's thick hair, so close to forgetting all about common courtesy. She had neighbors she liked. Neighbors who were also customers. Neighbors she'd want to introduce to Lexa, one day.

She searched for the door next to her and pushed it wide open, then pulled Lexa inside by the lapels of her coat. Though miffed at the interruption, Lexa recovered spectacularly well when Clarke shut the door behind them and resumed their kissing. She had Lexa pinned next to the coat rack, which rattled against the wall. Lexa's hands found her ass and squeezed.

"Fuck," Clarke breathed out. "I never thought it could be like this."

Lexa licked her bottom lip. "Like what?"

"Like…" Clarke's eyes darkened and she promptly pulled down Lexa's coat. "Wanting you so much it's painful."

In full agreement, Lexa pushed off the wall to kiss her. They moved further inside, blindly finding their way. Lexa mapped every inch of Clarke's skin she could reach, craving more. It was almost overwhelming, and perhaps the best indicator of how long it had been since she'd let passion overtake her.

"I want- I want-"

"Tell me," Clarke coaxed, desperate to get it out of her. Lexa had such a way with the written word, but Clarke needed her voice tonight.

"I feel like I'm going to _starve_ if I don't have you now," she finally admitted as Clarke bumped into the kitchen table.

Clarke sat on it and felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through her when Lexa immediately stepped between her thighs. It was familiar and yet different from the cramped room of the café, where the thrill had been in the stolen moment. Clarke had known nothing further than kissing would happen then.

This time, Lexa cupped her cheek; and it was tender, because tenderness underlined everything Lexa did, even something as mundane as typing on her keyboard, but it was possessive too. Not possessive in a way Clarke had ever known, or at least not the kind that stemmed from dominance and jealousy. It was from something else that Clarke had felt too; this deep-seated hope that only _she_ could satisfy Lexa. It was arrogant, she couldn't deny it, but it was true of Lexa too. No one else had ever had such a hold on her body, and no one else could satisfy her tonight - it seemed like Lexa was perhaps proudly aware of it.

"Tell me how you want me," Clarke rasped.

Lexa pressed her forehead against hers, her breathing fast and warm. Her hand slid down from her cheek to her neck, as if wanting to touch her everywhere and unsure where to finally settle.

"I want what you said before I left: my body against yours; my mouth on your thighs… my tongue inside you." Clarke shivered as Lexa looked down at her heaving chest. "Do you have any idea how many times I tormented myself with glimpses of you touching yourself? Knowing you'd seen me; _us?_ " 

Lexa tugged at the bottom of Clarke's sweater and pulled it up, letting Clarke lift her arms before she took it off completely, her bra coming with it. Clarke's hair fell back messily and Lexa seemed to enjoy the sight, exhaling sharply before she had to crush their lips together again. The coarse fabric of Lexa's sweater rubbed against her nipples in the most pleasurable way.

"And I can't stand not knowing anymore," Lexa groaned.

While Clarke lost herself to the glorious feeling of Lexa's mouth against hers, with no end in sight for the first time, she faintly felt hands work on the buttons of her pants. Lexa grew more frenzied after they came off, hooking her fingers in her underwear to pull them down her legs.

Before she even realized it, Clarke was naked on the table while Lexa stood fully clothed, almost insufferably smug when she pinned Clarke’s wrists down. There was something about being completely at Lexa’s mercy in this moment, so utterly vulnerable and safe at the same time, that made Clarke dizzy with need.

While Lexa drank her in with a darkened stare, Clarke tried and failed to steady her breathing. Past her awkward teenage years she'd been comfortable with her body; with her full breasts and her curves, but Lexa’s noticeable desire has her feeling like a work of art. It was emboldening.

“Are you just going to stare...?” She husked.

Pulled out of her lustful reverie, Lexa let go of her hands to trail up her thighs. She felt cool against her skin, but was quickly warming up now. She kissed her throat sensually and licked over her pulse as she had after their date on the mountain.

“Now I’ve seen all of you too,” she whispered, sending a shiver down Clarke's spine.

Clarke cupped the back of her neck and kissed her desperately, squirming on the table for relief. But Lexa clearly intended to provide it, her hand inching so close to Clarke's entrance that she could feel its heat.

"I want to be inside you," she said, only pressing closer after Clarke had nodded.

Lexa's fingers were coated with her arousal as soon as they parted her folds. Clarke had wanted this for so long, and so strongly, that it was no surprise how wet she was. She'd felt her own desire for Lexa multiple times before, and it was fierce.

"I think you want that too," Lexa noted as her thumb reached up to brush over her clit.

"Don't tease me," Clarke whined, arching into Lexa's touch. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore. I can't."

Lexa hummed against her neck, two of her fingers barely dipping inside. "You can…"

The words had Clarke on the verge of tears. "No, baby, please-"

"But not tonight," Lexa said before penetrating her. 

"Oh, _fuck!_ " Clarke moaned loudly, throwing her arm around Lexa's neck as she lied her down on the table.

"I've got you," Lexa said.

She pumped inside her, her eyes mesmerized by Clarke's face and the pleasure written on it. Clarke's mouth remained agape as she took her in, finally full. Lexa felt so good; unlike any dream or vision she could’ve conjured for herself again.

"More, Lexa- _fuck_ -" she panted, acutely aware how close she already was.

Lexa barely waited a beat before she picked up the pace, taking her deep and hard. There would be a time for slow and sensuous, where she would caress and worship every inch of the gorgeous woman beneath her, but neither of them had the patience for it now. In this moment Clarke needed release and Lexa needed the thrill of giving it to her.

The feet of the table thumped against the floor and something fell, but the windows could have shattered and Clarke would have still pulled Lexa closer. She'd never imagined their sex like _this_ , but god did it feel good. It was dirty and frenzied, but it was them. It wasn't something she could have done with anyone else; that she'd ever needed with anyone else.

She gasped against Lexa's neck, tasting salt when her tongue peeked out. Lexa still had her clothes on, but she was breathing so hard that Clarke knew she was starting to sweat too. The apartment felt so much hotter already; the air already smelling like them.

Lexa took a nipple in her mouth, licking and sucking while Clarke rocked her hips against her hand, chasing her release. This is what she'd missed out on, she vaguely thought. The urge to share all of herself, to give and be taken so fucking thoroughly she could barely even remember her own name. She only had Lexa on her mind; Lexa lavishing attention on her chest and curling her fingers inside her.

"Oh god, don't stop!" She cried out, her nails scratching down Lexa's back beneath her top, not hard enough to pierce skin but hard enough to hurt good.

Lexa's hips jerked forward and Clarke realized she was moving them against the table, following the in and out rhythm of her fingers to give herself some relief. It must've been only a few minutes since Clarke had finally felt Lexa inside her, but the thought of her so wound up paired with her small moans pushed Clarke over the edge. She tensed and came with a sharp cry, her orgasm crashing throughout her body in waves. Her ankles locked around Lexa's waist and she realized her fingers were still in that thick hair of hers, now wild and messy.

Lexa hummed in between kisses to her breasts and throat, anywhere she could reach as Clarke slowly unwound beneath her. She pulled out of her and drew lazy circles against her clit, not ready to pull away entirely. The smell of their mixed arousal was heady, and all she could think about was finally tasting Clarke. It was a surprise when she heard a small laugh and then saw Clarke cover her face with her hands.

"I knew I'd be fast, but…"

Lexa pressed her nose against the back of her hand. "Hm, I guess I have time to go home." 

Clarke immediately reached for her collar. "No jokes. Besides, that was a warm-up." She kissed her and then licked her bottom lip. "Just to clear my head."

"Yes, of course," Lexa played along. "A practice round?"

"Exactly."

They laughed before kissing again, laughter soon changing to moans. Clarke got off the table to pull Lexa toward the bedroom, eager for a softer surface. There'd been some truth to what she said: the orgasm did make her a little less useless, though she was rapidly feeling hot all over again.

They kissed between the quick shedding of Lexa's clothes, hands working fast to pull up her sweater and undo her shirt. The more skin was exposed, the tighter they held each other, desperate to feel skin on skin.

Clarke felt so hungry for Lexa that when their tongues met again she stuttered in her movements. Lexa's hands on her waist steadied her, but the brief halt slowed nothing down. 

By the time the back of Clarke's knees hit her bed, she was pulling an equally naked Lexa atop her. The weight of her felt like finding what she had been missing for months, for years, and when Lexa pulled back and looked at her, making sure her renewed ardor was welcome, Clarke felt like nothing could compare to being looked at like this, with so much desire she couldn't even comprehend it.

Their next kiss made Clarke's toes curl. Lexa's tongue wasn't timid against hers. Lexa's hands weren’t hesitant when they kneaded her breasts, her thumbs sweeping over her nipples to tease the hard peaks. She took one in her mouth and Clarke gasped helplessly, not sure she would ever get used to the heat of Lexa's mouth. As wound up as she was, Lexa still seemed more interested in exploring Clarke's body. She fondled and licked, checking for signs of what made Clarke tick the most - a teasing suck, a gentle bite, or a rough squeeze.

Their bodies moved together toward one common goal, yet in no rush to reach the finish line once more. Clarke's moans surprised her. She wasn't usually quiet but she wasn't extraordinarily loud either. But Lexa had awakened something inside her. She craved her so much it was almost frightening.

"Come here," Clarke pleaded as she tried tugging Lexa back up. Her thoughts filled with Lexa coming apart beneath her, but Lexa had other plans.

"I need to taste you," she breathed out while she left gentle pecks down Clarke's stomach.

When Lexa parted her thighs and finally kissed her clit, Clarke looked down and gasped. Suddenly, she thought of her vision. She saw it so clearly now that she wondered how she could've ever thought it wasn't Lexa. And yet she felt indescribable happiness when she realized it wasn't quite what she had seen either. The air was different, the smell, even the way they moved together. Her vision wasn't a one-off - she knew that clearly now. One day perhaps they would be back in her bed, and Lexa would be breathing her in, and Clarke would _know_ she was living what she had once seen. But tonight was still wonderfully unknown. It was theirs to discover together.

Needing to feel Lexa above all, Clarke reached for her head and moaned out her name. Lexa looked up and smiled, not once looking away while she lowered her mouth and slid her tongue through her.

"Lexa - _oh god_ \- make me come…" she pleaded, the fire inside her all-consuming.

Lexa's nose pressed against her as she drew closer, finally licking inside her. Clarke's eyes squeezed shut and she writhed beneath her, hips rocking against her mouth.

Oh she was _good_ at this, but what struck Clarke the most was how intense she was, almost to the point of greed, like Clarke was hers to please. Like she took her pleasure from giving it, spurred on the messier it was and so eager to lap it all up. And it was messy - almost to an embarrassing point, Clarke briefly thought, to be this wet and this eager to be devoured.

Lexa worked her hard and long, maddening, never once tiring. She knew where she wanted to go but she took direction too, with Clarke's hands in her hair, sometimes guiding closer, sometimes slightly to the side and oh-

" _Lexa!_ " Clarke gasped when she felt two fingers inside her again. A third finger quickly joined and started the delicious torture of building her up.

The air around them was almost stifling, but Clarke never wanted to leave this room. She'd lost all inhibition in Lexa's arms, in this bed, and it was the most freeing feeling in the world. She'd known they had a connection - that they brought out something exhilarating and new in each other - but she hadn't dreamed of something like this. Of understanding each other so utterly fast.

"You taste so good," Lexa said before she flicked her tongue over her clit, smiling proudly when Clarke's fingers pressed against her scalp again. 

"I'm so close - so close-" Clarke's back arched and she spread her thighs wider, offering herself fully, crying out when Lexa's fingers stroked a deep spot inside her. "Right there, right there," she moaned, but any other plea was swiftly cut off.

Her orgasm had her clawing at the sheets, gripping until her knuckles went white; her heart pounding. She called out for Lexa followed by a string of expletives, her thoughts completely wiped out. For a few seconds, there was nothing else existing in this world but this very feeling.

"Oh god, fuck," she said as she regained some sense of space. "Come here, baby, _please_."

Lexa licked her lips before moving up her body, her senses so attuned to Clarke's taste and smell; the very feel of her beneath her fingertips.

Clarke kissed her deeply once her breathing had calmed down. It was wet and filthy, a kiss that specifically aimed to further Lexa's arousal. Once Clarke had recovered, it was no surprise that she pushed Lexa on her back and straddled her.

And while Lexa had successfully kept her mind off of her own needs so far, it was impossible now. Clarke entwined their fingers together and pinned them on each side of Lexa's head, grinning when Lexa's attention immediately went to her hanging breasts, too far for her mouth to reach.

"You want something?" Clarke coyly asked as she started grinding against her, her breasts now swaying gently with her body.

Lexa squeezed her hands in frustration. "Clarke…"

Clarke leaned down and grinned cockily when Lexa tried kissing her.

"I think you like this," she said, her mouth so close she could feel Lexa's warm breath. She could smell herself too, and even in the poor lighting from the hallway, she could see her essence on Lexa's chin.

"I think you've liked it for a long time. How we'd touch but barely; kiss but never long enough. It's how you drove me crazy for weeks. But I know I liked it, deep down." She rubbed herself against Lexa's thighs and watched her reaction closely. "How it pushed me toward the edge. How much more intense it made touching myself every night, wondering how much closer we were to a night like this."

Lexa's eyes squeezed shut for a second. "Fuck," she breathed out, to Clarke's wicked delight.

"Hmm, I know you like picturing that." She kissed her throat and then finally kissed her breasts. "Let me take care of you." She let go of her hands to palm one breast while she teased the other with her tongue, sighing when Lexa moaned lowly.

Lexa slung an arm around her middle, fingers stretched out on her back, just to feel her closer. Just to be selfish for a moment and keep this woman - this bold, extraordinary woman - all to herself. She had wanted to give so much tonight, to push Clarke over the edge and bring her back, over and over again, but beneath Clarke's mouth and hands she was unable to ignore her own desire any longer.

Her breathing stuttered as she watched her leave open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, adoring every freckle.

Maybe Clarke had seen Lexa's body before even truly knowing her, but it couldn't compare to actually feeling her. Feeling the warmth of her skin and how her muscles tensed; watching the dim light bounce on her tattoo when she flexed her arm; how her eyes darkened the more time passed. Her vision had been about her own pleasure, but Clarke found Lexa's pleasure much more exhilarating.

"What do you want?" She asked this time, stroking the inside of Lexa's thigh.

Lexa looked so taken aback for a second that Clarke wondered if she still wasn't used to being asked that. The first time Clarke had ever asked her, at night in the café, Lexa had kissed her. The second, she had implied it didn't matter. But it did, and Clarke would make sure Lexa always knew it.

Lexa gripped her hip, pulling her closer. Then, she cupped the back of her neck to kiss her, maybe as a way of stalling. Clarke couldn't imagine why she would do it, until Lexa nudged her higher up on her body again. Clarke laughed when her breasts were at eye level and Lexa licked her bottom lip.

"Well I know what to give you for Christmas now," she said.

Lexa smiled before lifting her head to nuzzle one breast. "I could stay here forever."

"Hmm, I'll see what I can do about that." Clarke reached between her legs and touched her, her knees almost buckling when she felt how wet Lexa was.

Lexa's breathing quickened and she pressed her face against Clarke's cleavage, her arm still tight around her.

"Clarke, _fuck_ ," she exhaled sharply.

It was distracting enough to have Lexa's mouth so close to her breasts again, but when she lifted her thigh ever so slightly, Clarke felt it against her center and briefly wavered. Knowing she'd be a lost cause if she started grinding down on it, she slid two fingers inside Lexa and watched as she tipped her head back.

Clarke had always known Lexa to be hard to pinpoint; reserved at times and yet so passionate at others. Detached some days and sociable on others. The vision had captured just how intense she could be, like a switch she turned on. For a long time Clarke had thought of her as a walking contradiction, but as she looked at her face now, she saw none of that. Lexa had trusted her with so much; and asked for so little in return. And while Clarke had yearned for the intimacy in her vision, she realized then they'd shared that long before shedding their clothes. Touching Lexa - _finally_ touching Lexa - was just the culmination of it.

"You feel amazing," she whispered as she pressed inside her, amazed by Lexa's small moans and how she held her. They couldn't possibly be closer, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other, and yet it still felt like there was too much between them.

Clarke felt Lexa's thigh tense and moaned, not expecting it to feel so good against her clit. When Lexa nudged her hips and encouraged her to grind down, Clarke gave into the urge.

"Don't stop," Lexa panted, tongue flicking against Clarke's breast again.

Clarke would've never dared, the thought of pulling out almost laughable. Every cell in her body was focused on Lexa; on the sound of her fingers thrusting inside her and the quick rise and fall of her chest. She couldn't get enough of her; couldn't wait to watch her come undone.

Lexa writhed beneath her, hips rising to meet the rhythm she had set. Her eyes were closed now and there was a slight crease between her brows. It made Clarke smile, remembering too fondly how wound up Lexa had been when they had first met. It had been apparent then and it was apparent now, differently of course, only Clarke intended to make sure she found her release.

"I've got you," she echoed Lexa's earlier sentiment, remembering how it had made her feel.

While Clarke hadn't been able to quiet her moans, Lexa's impeding orgasm seemed to have the opposite effect. Her lips were parted and her hold on Clarke had tightened, but she seemed to have retreated into herself.

"Baby, look at me," Clarke gently coxed as her thrusts quickened.

Lexa looked up with shining eyes, and for a moment Clarke lost herself in them. She couldn't really explain what happened then, if their arousal was heightening everything, but she felt every bit of Lexa's trust in her, and it made her heart swell. She bent down to kiss her, and even if it was sloppy it felt like she might cry from it.

Now desperate for Lexa to feel the same way she'd made her, Clarke pulled out of her and focused on her clit, rubbing it until Lexa's fingers dug into her back and she gasped.

"Clarke- fuck, _oh_ -" She came with a soft cry, trying to keep her eyes open until she couldn't any longer. She reached for Clarke's hand and interlaced their fingers, her way of showing she was still here, in the moment, and had no intention of leaving.

Clarke drank in every change in her expression, from her brow finally relaxing to the little twitch in her nose she could only describe as _so fucking cute_. Lexa was breathtaking. It felt like her chest had exploded with happiness. She couldn't put it into words yet, but she would one day - that much she knew.

With that thought, Clarke rested her head on Lexa's shoulder and grinned, just because it felt exactly like the thing to do.

* * *

Clarke woke up on her stomach to the feeling of Lexa's lips on the back of her neck and her knuckles brushing down her spine. She kept her eyes shut, the light of the morning sun already filtering through the thin drapes. Lexa must've gotten up at some point to shut them, because it certainly hadn't been a priority last night. It'd been a while since Clarke had woken up after dawn, but the café was the furthest thing from her mind today, interviews be damned.

"Hmm feels nice," she mumbled into her pillow. She stretched her arms and legs, nearly purring when she realized Lexa's naked body was pressed against her back.

"Good morning," Lexa murmured.

Clarke faced her with a shy grin. Lexa looked so stunning with her tousled hair and the soft light on her face.

"Hi," she said, her voice still scratchy. 

"How do you feel?"

Clarke snorted. "How do you think?"

Lexa smiled and bent down to kiss her, but the initial gentle press of lips soon turned into something deeper when Clarke reached out for her cheek and opened her mouth. Lexa sighed into it, her hand now resting on her ass and squeezing it when Clarke grew bolder.

"Don't start what you can't finish…" Clarke pulled away, the pulse between her legs throbbing familiarly.

"I wouldn't dare," Lexa replied confidently before straddling Clarke's legs and bending down again to kiss her shoulder blades.

"Lexa…" Clarke's breathing picked up as she guessed her intentions. She was wet, maybe wetter than she'd expected just a few minutes after waking up, but Lexa had this effect on her. She felt her shuffle back before cupping her ass with both hands.

"Raise your hips for me, baby," Lexa gently said.

Clarke did as requested, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her when she suddenly felt Lexa's tongue flat against her slit. The pillow muffled her moan. She buried her face in it, picturing Lexa positioned behind her so clearly it made her stomach tighten even more. Not seeing her made it all the more intense; a sign she trusted Lexa wholly, even at her most exposed.

Lexa tongued her clit and then dipped inside her, teasing her slowly, unlike the frantic pace they had set last night. It was purposeful though, building on the pressure Clarke already felt so strongly.

"Oh my god," she gave a low moan, helpless to do anything but hope Lexa would take pity on her fast.

She didn't. Lexa alternated between slow drags of her tongue against her entrance and gentle suction on her clit, as if exploring her anew in the morning light. Clarke groaned, thinking this might be how she would go insane. She needed so much more - Lexa deep inside her, taking her roughly until she was finally rid of the pulsing ache between her legs.

"Lexa, please-" she said, her fingers digging into the mattress.

Lexa shifted and Clarke suddenly shivered in anticipation. Yesterday had been heated and impatient, but this morning was a different kind of yearning. How far could they push and pull each other? How much could they give and take?

Taking her cue, Lexa drew unhurried circles around her clit before repositioning herself. She leaned down, her breasts against Clarke's back, though not so heavily that Clarke would crumple completely beneath her weight. Then, she pushed two fingers inside her.

"Fuck," Clarke moaned, knees pressed into the mattress.

Flashes of herself getting off like this the first time filled her mind. It had been the first time she'd thought of Lexa - at least consciously. The first time she'd needed to get off so badly that only picturing Lexa would satisfy her. And it had been enough then, but it had never been this good. If Lexa kept this going, she couldn't imagine leaving her room today.

"Like this?" Lexa asked as she filled her.

God, Lexa sure picked her moments. Clarke couldn't think straight, let alone speak!

"Faster," she managed to whimper.

Lexa hummed in acknowledgment and then sucked on her neck, moving her hips in such a way that it matched the movement of her fingers. Clarke felt like she was being mounted; taken so hard and good that she'd walk funny for days. She parted her thighs wider, lewdly, just to feel Lexa deeper.

"Harder… More…"

Lexa knew how to tease but she wasn't cruel at it, at least not this morning. She obeyed Clarke's commands smoothly, as if nothing could please her more than pleasing Clarke.

"I thought about you too," Lexa admitted quietly, like it was a dirty secret of hers. "Just like this."

Clarke's foggy mind processed the words slowly, her heart jolting when she realized what Lexa meant. Lexa shifted behind her and Clarke felt her grind against her ass, like she needed to alleviate the ache she was feeling herself before continuing.

"Thought about you spread out for me." Lexa shifted slightly to change the angle. "Hearing you say my name."

"Lexa-"

"Just like that. I thought about taking you with my tongue first - soft and gentle."

"Oh, _oh_ ," Clarke panted into the pillow.

Lexa picked up the pace. "With my fingers - hard and fast."

Clarke's mouth opened but no sound came out as her body hurtled toward release, the delicious pressure tightening with each word.

"And when I was about to come I'd think about taking you with my strap - in deep, long strokes." Lexa finally added a third finger and watched as Clarke's back arched in pleasure.

"Oh my- God, Lex- Don't stop, don't stop!" 

"Never," Lexa breathed out.

Their bodies moved together as one again, and soon Lexa found it harder to keep herself from collapsing on Clarke. She chased her own release, grinding against her, spurred on each time Clarke said her name. 

Finally Clarke's whole body tensed before she moaned loudly into the pillow, pleasure bursting within her as she reached her peak. Her toes curled and her mind went blank, wiped out by Lexa's thorough fucking. One, two, three thrusts of her hips against her ass and Lexa was crying out her name in the crook of her neck, her voice a soft rasp until all Clarke heard was their ragged breathing.

Lexa lied on her for a minute, the weight of her so warm and pleasant that Clarke wished she'd just stay there and they could fall asleep like this. Lexa reached for her hand and held it, mumbling something Clarke couldn't quite make out at first.

"You're amazing," Lexa said more clearly as she moved to the side, lying next to Clarke. "So fucking amazing."

Clarke quickly realized something. "Oh Lex…" she started giggling.

"What is it?" Lexa asked with amusement, propping herself up on her elbow and adoring Clarke's contagious laughter. "Was it too much?"

Clarke shook her head and pulled back. "Not at all. I was just thinking… we lasted about a week."

"Oh." Lexa smiled. "Well, God made the world in a week. A whole world. So I'd argue a week is an honorable amount of time to wait."

Clarke pushed Lexa on her back so she could rest her head on her chest, wanting to bask in the warmth of their bodies as her heart settled down.

"True, but I'm not sure the Bible would approve of this."

Lexa shrugged. "We just did our part fulfilling a different prophecy. Which reminds me... How did I compare?"

Clarke laughed tiredly. "No, this wasn't it."

"Really?"

"It was different."

Lexa thought about this for a beat. "How so?"

Clarke kissed the side of her breast. "Just… realer. Looking back, the vision was almost like… like I wasn't fully in my body. It's hard to explain. It can't be compared."

"Hm. Interesting."

Clarke looked up. "You're not going to include this in the Gazette, are you?"

"Well of course I am, this was all just a ploy to further my research."

Clarke moved to playfully nip her earlobe. "In that case I'll have to keep you in this room forever."

Lexa grinned while Clarke peppered her neck with kisses. "I'll agree to those terms in the name of research." She capture her lips and sighed into their sweet kiss, her arms right where she had wanted them for so long, around Clarke's waist.

Staying here forever had a nice ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narrator: They didn't knit a scarf.


End file.
